Death is Cheap
by Klei
Summary: For nations, death is cheap. Russian Roulette may hurt, but they always come back to life. No, the biggest concern is what the other player decides to do while you're 'dead.' Character deaths played for smut and laughs, multiple times.  RussAme.
1. Russian Roulette

**Death is Cheap **

_For nations, death is cheap. Russian Roulette may hurt, but they always come back to life. No, the biggest concern is what the other player decides to do while you're 'dead.' Character deaths played for smut and laughs, multiple times. Don't worry, they get better. RussAme.

* * *

_

**A/N**

**Klei: **Because you can't call yourself a true RussAme fan until you've written a fic involving Russian Roulette. Seeing as pretty much every dramatic version of the game has been used, I have taken the liberty of putting what I hope is an original spin on the whole concept.

**Hungary: **Why's it rated M? Wouldn't T be enough?

**Klei: **There will almost certainly be more chapters. :3 Nothing's quite as fun as killing characters over and over in different ways, in the same continuity, and playing it for laughs/smut/a smut-laugh hybrid. And no, I don't mind requests for a specific kind of death at all.

**Hungary: **…Will there be actual smut?

**Klei: **Most likely.

**Hungary: **Popcorn time!

**Klei: **A description of the death in question will be provided at the beginning of every chapter. Feel free to skip if it's squicky. In fact, the first chapter is probably the least squicky (people get shot in the head for lulz, and it isn't even graphically described), and can easily be read as a standalone story. XD

* * *

_Click._

"Why are we playing this once again?" Russia inquired as he handed the gun to America.

_Click._

"I dunno. It's either this or paperwork, man."

_Click._

"Have you ever considered just doing your paperwork?"

_Click._

"Hell no."

_Click._

"Ha, well, would you look at that?" America mused, passing the gun back. "This is the sixth. Looks like you lose, man."

Russia snorted and pointed the gun at his head. "What do you intend to do with my corpse, I wonder?"

"Just pull the trigger," America huffed.

Shrugging, Russia sighed. "Alfred, if I find my paperwork destroyed when I wake up, I am going to perform a taxidermy on your still-living body."

"Go ahead, dude," the younger replied with a grin. "I'll be a hot taxidermy."

"Perhaps I should put it in a slutty pose."

"Stop stalling and pull the trigger."

Russia rolled his eyes one last time before doing as he was asked.

_BANG!_

"WOOT!" Alfred cheered as the other fell to the floor, 'dead.' As dead as an immortal could get, anyway. "Finally!" He had never actually won Russian Roulette before. Be it Ivan cheating or him just having really poor luck, he always ended up being the one getting his brains blown out. But not that time! That time he had won! He had been victorious! There was only one thing left to figure out!

…What was he going to do to Ivan?

Something humiliating, his mind provided. After all, every other game he had played with the man ended up with him waking up in some sort of embarrassing outfit or situation. God, he didn't even want to think about the last time…

_The first thing he registered upon regaining consciousness was the ring of a doorbell. Surely he could just sleep a little longer, though… Just a little more, to make sure the blood was flowing properly to all of his limbs again. Whoever was standing outside his door was persistent, though, repeatedly smashing the button until it began to give America a headache. Struggling to get back to his feet, both of which were still numb, he headed off to the mirror to see exactly what Ivan had done to him that time._

_ Hm… That was weird. He was in ordinary pajamas, there wasn't anything written on his face, and… He did a quick spin around to make sure there was nothing hidden anywhere. Nope…  
_

_ The bell continued to ring. Rubbing his eyes, Alfred headed to the front door, opening it up with a groan. A woman stood outside, her face familiar… Wasn't she his neighbor? "Oh, g'morning, miss," he greeted drowsily._

_ She didn't look too happy. "Listen here!" she said sternly. "I know kids today are always trying to make some big statement nowadays, but don't you think it's a little much to hang Soviet flags all over your house? Show your country at least a little respect. This is the District of Columbia, after all."_

_ "S-soviet…" he repeated, eyes widening. "What are you talking abou-"_

_ He stepped out a little further, onto the porch. Sure enough, all his American flags had been replaced with a familiar red one bearing a hammer and sickle in the corner._

_ Turning back to the woman, he smiled and asked, "May I borrow your phone?"_

_ She blinked back at him, confused, but held out a black iPhone. As soon as it was in his hands he dialed the number and waited for the other to pick up._

_ "Privyet," the voice greeted._

_ "I AM GOING TO KILL YOU, YOU FUCKING COMMIE PIECE OF SHIT!"_

_ On the other end, Russia had begun to laugh. "Oh, so you noticed? I was worried that you would not appreciate my redecorating skills…"_

_ "REDECORATING, MY ASS! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU, RED BASTARD?"_

_ "Back home," Russia responded cheerfully. "I look forward to your next visit, podsolnechnik, but I believe you have a bit of cleaning up to do!"_

_ "DON'T YOU DARE HANG UP ON ME, YOU-"_

Beep!

_The woman simply stared at him as he returned her phone. "Umm…"_

_ "Just… Just go," he said simply, tearing down the nearest of the flags. "I have to go dump these in a landfill. Burning would be too good for 'em."_

_ The woman winced. "Uh, well… If it helps, I think you should know…" She whispered something in his ear._

_ Horrified, he ran further out into the yard and turned around. Just as she had said, a huge hammer and sickle had been painted onto the roof. America couldn't help but be torn between complete and utter revulsion, and a question. He chose to voice the latter._

_ "How the hell did he DO all this in the course of one night and still manage to get all the way back to Russia before I woke up?"_

_ "Hey, don't look at me," the woman replied with a shrug._

How had he done it, anyway? Well, it didn't matter… It was his turn to mess with Russia! But what to do? Paint Ivan's house red, white, and blue? Nah. Their flags used the same colors… He wouldn't have enough time, anyway.

Suddenly, an idea popped into his head. They were at Russia's house for a reason… The World Conference was taking place in Moscow, the next day. It would only took about 12 or so hours to recover from a gunshot to the head, and it was still pretty early, so they had both decided that one game couldn't hurt. The bullet itself would have dissolved by the time either of them awoke, and after that it was little more than a particularly groggy morning.

Those 12 hours would be more than enough for him to do it. By the time Ivan woke up, the meeting would be too soon for him to do anything about it, and Alfred would go off to share a very angry England's hotel room.

Life. Was. Awesome.

Well, except for the fact that he still had to do his paperwork.

* * *

Russia slowly opened his eyes, yawning as his blurry surroundings began to regain their usual sharpness. He wasn't tired, but he still preferred sleep to the dreamless abyss that was a nation's 'death.' They all did. Well, with the exception of Prussia, but he had always been weird like that.

He slowly sat up, immediately noticing one very important thing. America was nowhere to be found. He wasn't concerned that the other was lost, or some such thing. It was just that if he had actually felt the need to stay away… Whatever he had done must have been bad, indeed.

His first thought was to look at himself in the mirror. After checking his sunflower-patterned pajamas and finding nothing out of the ordinary, Russia began to remove them to inspect his body instead. Nope… Nothing. Well, what was it, then?

The scarf-adorning nation suddenly panicked. He wouldn't… Putting his pajamas back on as quickly as he could, he peaked out his window. No, his tricolor flags were still up. Phew. Well, what was it, then?

Russia blinked and looked at the clock. Well, he had to start getting ready for the meeting. Scarf? Check. Shoes? Check. Suit? He opened the closet and blinked.

Where were his suits?

"Damn him…" he muttered, looking through it. There was no use looking for them. America had probably taken them off to wherever it was he went to stay the night. Russia checked the clock again. Not enough time to buy a new one… Not _nearly_ enough time…

That was when, much to his relief, he found one in the back that Alfred seemed to have missed. Not his favorite, but it would have to do until he could track the other down and retrieve the others. What an idiot, missing one… Ivan snickered. Once again, he was victori-

There was an American flag sewn onto the back of it. Underneath it, in tidily stitched letters far neater than the man's handwriting, were the words, 'FUCK YEAH!'

"I am going to kill him… And when he wakes up, I am going to kill him again."

And then, after he had done that… He would ask him where the hell he learned to sew.

* * *

"He's going to kill you," England said flatly, sitting beside America.

The man in question smirked, having just finished explaining what he had done. "Probably… Personally, I hope he really does do the taxidermy. What's it like to be skinned alive?" And then stuffed, lifeless and on display for anyone to see and touch… Fuck yeah.

England rolled his eyes. "Not pleasant."

"Had it done before, old man?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact," Arthur replied, taking a sip of his tea. "Imagine peeling off a scab." America nodded. "Now imagine being restrained either upright or on a table while they cut into your back and peel the rest of your flesh off from there."

"Ouch…"

" 'Ouch' is an understatement," said England, wincing at the memories. "The sooner you bled to death, the luckier you were."

"Still…" said America, a glint in his eyes. "I wouldn't mind trying it, just once… It's the pain that makes it fun."

England scoffed. "You're mad."

"You raised me," America pointed out.

"I blame France's influence," was the irritated reply. "I told you not to smuggle his products into your country, but would you listen to me?"

America gave him a thumbs-up. "I did my best not to!"

The elder rolled his eyes. "Where do you get off acting all innocent, anyway? I recall several cases of people being skinned alive in American history."

Before America could attempt a comeback, Germany's voice boomed throughout the room. "If the lot of you wouldn't mind quieting down," he began, "has anyone seen Russia?"

There was silence throughout the room. England sighed and stood up. "Let me just start by saying this is entirely Alfred's fault."

"Hey, he lost the game fair and square!" America insisted just as the door opened up.

In walked a very irritated-looking Russia, aura dark and muttering 'kols' under his breath. "My apologies for being late," he said icily, taking a seat as far from America as possible. Covering up the flag and words on the back of his suit was one end of his scarf, hanging over the middle.

It didn't work for longer than about a minute. "What's that on your back, man?" Prussia asked, popping up behind the other and lifting the scarf out of the way. Russia swiped his arm at the other, but Gilbert just jumped back, snickering. "Dude, Alfred! That's awesome!"

England and the others facepalmed, whilst Prussia, Denmark, and America all laughed.

"Need I remind you," Russia interrupted, smiling. "That I am hosting this meeting, allowing me to bring my pipe unhindered?"

The three of them silenced themselves.

"Hey, come on, man!" America insisted. "You painted a hammer and sickle onto my roof!"

Prussia and Denmark were clearly straining not to start laughing again as both Alfred and Ivan started arguing. Germany just groaned, Ukraine sighed, Belarus unconsciously clawed at the table, England blamed France, France blamed England, Canada was ignored, China attempted to sell people things, Japan agreed with everyone, Italy surrendered, Greece slept, Lithuania bit his lip, Latvia shivered and wept, Estonia's eye twitched, Sealand took the opportunity to try and convince everyone that he was a nation, and Switzerland…

_BANG! BANG!_

Both Russia and America dropped to the floor.

"What the hell?" Hungary screeched as everyone turned back to Switzerland, who clicked the safety of his gun back on.

"I did what had to be done!" he responded, a vein bulging from his forehead. "Now, I propose a vote… All in favor of tossing the two of them into the nearest dumpster?"

Almost all the hands in the room went up.

"Then it's settled. Now someone help me with the bodies."

Liechtenstein shook her head vigorously. "No! Not the dumpster, brother!" Before Switzerland could reply, she added, "You might startle the civilians! Try the janitor's closet instead!"

"Very well…" he sighed. "All in favor of locking them into the janitor's closet?"

That time, all the hands in the room went up.

* * *

America groaned as he woke up. "What the hell happened?"

"Switzerland shot us," Russia replied in an irritated tone, rubbing his head nearby. "He got you first, then me." How rude, killing the host of the meeting. While he was trying to have a discussion with someone, no less!

"Fuck… What time is it?"

Russia checked his watch. "About midnight. We appear to be in a janitor's closet."

"Fuck," Alfred said again.

The two of them sat there in silence for a moment before America asked the question that was on both of their minds.

"Wanna fuck?"

"Da."

* * *

**A/N**

**Klei: **And so ends chapter one/the prologue! Pretty sure this story is gonna consist of Russia and America taking turns killing each other, for the most part.

**Hungary: **In what ways?

**Klei: **Lessee… Next chapter, Alfie is definitely skinned alive. I kinda want to do a brazen bull and iron maiden death, as well as death by the iron pear, some 'crushed to death' stuff, hanging, some creative shizz from Gurochan, cooked and eaten, burned at the stake… Maybe the rack, and a Judas cradle… Then there's water drop torture, being boiled alive (might actually coincide with the 'cooked and eaten' thing), the Spanish tickler, thumbscrews…

**Hungary: **Okay, we get it, calm the fuck down! You're starting to get that scary glint in your eyes…

**Klei: **:D


	2. No, You Don't Get a Taxidermy

**A/N**

**Klei: **Whee! In this chapter, Alfie is skinned alive. To death.

**America: **Lolwut?

**Klei: **Ahem… In layman's terms, pointy knife goes in, skin comes off.

**America: **Yeah, I get that, but… WTF?

**Klei:** :D Anyway, yes, this is a ridiculous chapter. This story is meant to be the ridiculous antics of two very masochistic (emphasis on VERY) nations.

* * *

"Are you sure about this?" Russia asked, hesitating.

"Hell to the yeah!" a very nude America replied confidently, locked into an upright triangular restraint to keep him still. "Get on with it already."

Russia just bit his lip. "This… This is a very painful procedure. You are aware of that, correct? Far worse than a quick gunshot to the head."

"I'm the hero, I can take it," America snorted. "Now come on, man, I'm not gonna flay myself, you know."

The taller simply sighed. "It might take up to a week for all the skin to grow back." What would he do with the original, anyway? He wasn't having it stuffed like Alfred clearly wanted. He had _standards. _Though he had threatened it, the very thought of actually doing such appalled him. Maybe he would just burn it… No, too smelly. What if he…? No, a dog might dig it back up.

"Honestly, I'm not concerned. Just don't 'redecorate' my house again, 'kay?"

Russia snorted. "Nyet, I will not. Promise. We had a truce, da?"

"Good. Well, go on."

Again, Russia bit his lip. Well, it seemed there was no backing out of it. He sliced the blade down through America's back, only to flinch at the howl of agony.

"FUCK!" Alfred cried out, tensing up and causing the device holding him in place to shake. "Oh God, more!"

Ivan blinked, but continued to lengthen the cut. Down, down, down the blade went, until it reached the 'Grand Canyon.' "If I did not know any better, I would say you were enjoying this."

"That would be," Alfred said through whimpers, "because I am. Fuck, fuck, fuck, it hurts, fuck! So good!"

"You are very lucky you are not human," Russia commented, reaching around with the hand that wasn't holding the knife to give America's hardening cock a quick stroke. "I do not think they would be enjoying this as much as you are." Natural selection would have quenched such desires very quickly. Too bad nations were immune to such things.

America let out a hiss of pain and pleasure. "Sucks to be them… Oh, oh… Fuck! You know…" He took a moment to inhale sharply and whine. "T-there are… People who have… Mm, died as a… As a… Erotic… Asphysssssssssssssss… Apex… Aphysixis…"

"Asphyxiation?" Russia provided, peeling the skin back. "Yes, I've read about those cases on the news. What a shame. Were they nations, it would have only taken them about an hour or so to recover…" The blade continued to work its way under his flesh, earning more screams from the man it was cutting. "I'm surprised you're still conscious at this point, to be completely honest."

"Fuck!" America cried out once again. "Touch me, damn it! I wanna cum before I'm out for the count!"

"You make it so very difficult to take this seriously," Russia mused, doing as he was asked. "What do you want me to do with your skin?"

The triangular restraint was clearly on the verge of breaking. "I… I don't care! God, stroke faster… I think I'm gonna pass out soon, and if I don't get off before then, we're doing this again."

"But it's messy!" Russia complained, looking down at his bloody hands and shirt.

"Shut up and go faster!" America demanded, writhing in pain. "Better yet, fuck me."

"Your rectum is already torn apart."

"Damn it!"

Russia laughed. "You should have told me in the beginning if you wanted to do that… I wouldn't have cut into it so quickly."

"Come on, there's gotta be something you can stick yourself into…" America insisted.

"There is, but I do not care to do it…" Eww. Subject change time. "There is quite a lot of fatty content under here, wouldn't you agree?"

"FUCK, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck… I can't see back there, you asshole, and FUCK! Oh God…" he gasped. "I'm gonna cum… Fuck! Yes! YES!" The triangle shook again as the younger tugged at his restraints, cumming hard into Ivan's hand. "Fuck… I think I'm…"

His head drooped, and Russia checked his pulse.

Dead.

"Just like you, leaving me with the mess," he mused, continuing to cut. "You are lucky I am considerate. I could easily just leave you hanging there." Not well-practiced in the art of skinning humans, and not having skinned animals for many, MANY years, he ended up cutting into the muscle beneath several times by mistake. Well, no harm done; it wasn't like Alfred would get to see the results. He let the flesh drop to the floor and wiped the sweat from his brow, taking a brief moment to admire his work. All that just so America could get off, and all he got was a bleeding chunk of flesh in his living room… Geez. And he still had to clean up.

What would be the best way to leave the red, bloody body? Perhaps keeping him in the restraints was best, after all. He would be sore when he woke up, but at least it would make it easier for his body to regenerate than if part of it was pressed against a bed, table, or the floor. Yes, that would have to do. Again, though, there was the problem of what to do with the skin. There were times when torture was just so much more trouble than it was worth… How could people stand to do it all the time way back when?

Oh, right. They never bothered to clean up to begin with.

Then, as if things couldn't possibly get any more aggravating, the door opened. America had been the last one in; had he forgotten to lock it? Argh. "Russia, I need-" England began, only to pause at the sight that greeted him.

"This isn't what it looks like," said Russia immediately in his own defense.

The other took another moment to observe everything from the cum splatter on the ground to the blood staining the other's clothing before exhaling. "You two couldn't have waited until tomorrow night, after the conference came to a close?"

Russia paused. "Didn't it end yesterday?"

"There was an extension, remember?" England groaned. "I thought you were supposed to be hosting this!"

"Ah, well, I found it difficult to pay attention in the latter half due to the fact that I was shot in the head early on," Russia chirped. "Or have you forgotten?"

England forced out a laugh. "R-right… If it's any consolation, I wasn't among the idiots who wanted to throw your corpses into a dumpster."

Silence.

"What?"

"NOTHING. Nothing at all."

Ivan rolled his eyes. "It is in the past, da? Tell me what you need. While you are at it, help me clean this up."

Arthur winced. "I need your signature, but…" He set the documents on the coffee table nearby. "I'll wait until you aren't covered in blood, shall I?"

"Da. I would appreciate that."

Russia turned around and began heading down the hall. "This way, I have mops… And towels, we will need towels."

The Briton nodded and followed after him. "Do you two… Kill each other often?"

"With guns? Da," the taller answered cheerfully. "This would be the first time we tried anything beyond that, though. What would you say is the best way to get rid of the skin?"

Arthur paused. "Burning it, probably, if there's a room you don't mind staying out of for a little while…"

"Nyet, I already thought of that," Russia sighed, handing England a mop. "I was thinking, perhaps I could throw it in a lake or the ocean and let the fish eat it."

"And risk having a human find it?" England responded, shaking his head. "It would be all over the news! You could try dropping it out in the middle of the ocean, but that's more trouble than it's worth, isn't it?" He took the bucket nearby and began heading back to fill it up, while Russia took the second mop and followed. "Did the git have any suggestions?"

"He wanted me to stuff it," replied Russia with a shiver. Too much 'eww' for him.

"Figures. Knowing him, he'd probably wank to it." Double eww. "Or worse, try to fuck it…" _Triple _e- no, actually, that was kind of hot. Still. He wasn't stuffing it. That was just disturbing.

"I… I think I'm just going to put it in a cooler and have someone dump it out into the ocean later…"

"That ought to work. I'm sure the fish will appreciate it, at least."

Quadruple eww.

* * *

When America finally re-opened his eyes, he was extremely sore.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," chirped Russia from the side. "I assume you want out of that device now?"

"Yeah, that'd be great," the shorter responded, tugging wearily at his restraints. "How long have I been out?"

"About a week," Ivan replied, unlocking the cuffs around the other's wrists and ankles. Alfred rubbed them all, hissing with pain. "On the bright side, your skin is soft as a newborn's right now!" He laughed and stroked the shorter's arm.

"Great," America snorted. "Too bad we can't patent it as a treatment for the general public. 'Forget skin creams! Skin yourself!' Haha, no." He rubbed his own arm. "Damn, that _is_ soft. Hope it's not permanent."

"Probably not. Try not to do anything stupid until your skin is fully healed." Russia smiled. "I am not a doctor, but even I can tell that it would not end well. In fact, I wouldn't even go out into the sun. You could burn easily."

"No shit." He carefully got to his feet and stretched. "Anything happen while I was out?"

"Your boss called," Russia replied, looking away. "He is a little… Upset that you have yet to return. I told him I did not know where you were. I would have explained the situation, but you know humans. They panic. I was concerned he would take it as an act of terrorism, or some such thing."

America flushed. "Probably the best idea," he admitted. "I'll call him in a sec, 'kay? Just let me get something to eat… I'm starving." He scurried off to the kitchen.

"I am glad to see you are comfortable enough at my house to raid my fridge without asking."

"You can always raid my fridge, too, ya' know. You just never seem to want to."

"That would be because every item in there is filled with enough calories to give an elephant a heart attack," Russia replied simply.

America shrugged. "Come on, I've only died of a heart attack three times!"

_"Only?"

* * *

_

Somewhere else, England rolled his eyes. "I don't believe them. I really don't. Who let's someone else kill them for pleasure?"

"Them, apparently," France replied with a chirp. The man was capable of appreciating all sorts of kinks, no matter how gross or bizarre, even if he himself didn't care for them. And he made sure he didn't care for them, because he always, _always _tried one out before he decided he didn't like it. "Maybe we should-"

"I am NOT letting you kill me for your own sexual gain, you hear?" Arthur snapped.

"Aww…"

* * *

**A/N**

**Klei: **Next chapter, uh… I dunno. We're doing something to Russia. I have some ideas, but if anyone has any preferences/suggestions, that's alright, too. :D

**Hungary: **What happened to the list you had last chapter?

**Klei: **I lost it. Wonder what happened to it?

**-Somewhere Else-**

**Russia: **Kolkol! -sets list on top of wood pile and lights it-

**America: **Whoo! -adds more wood to the fire-

**-Back Here-**

**Klei: **Good thing I have another copy! Oh, and special thanks goes to ILoveAnimeVeryMuch123 for her suggestions. Years of using guns as dildos and excessive alcohol intake is just begging for something to go wrong! And, well, I don't really know how to go about it, but I'll do a choking-on-gummy-bears just for you, 'kay? X3 ThisAnon, rest assured there will be strangulation, and Russia's removable heart will be played with.

**Liechtenstein: **So… What's going to happen to Russia next chapter?

**Klei: **I was thinking the brazen bull or hanging. Or, we could get right to the 'alcohol-induced drowning in own vomit.' That's definitely got potential. :3 Any preferences, people?

**Hungary: **…Eww.

**Liechtenstein: **Oh my God! That's so ho- I mean, uh, eww. Yeah.


	3. Of Suffocation and Seal Clubbing

**A/N**

**Klei: **It's time for another chapter! This time around, it's Russia's turn to croak, via strangulation with his scarf. Simple enough.

**Russia: **Kolkol…

**Klei: **Sorry it's been taking so long to update this; I can be incredibly lazy sometimes, and I had a bit of writer's block on a certain section of this chapter. In all honesty, I didn't think people would like this, anyway. I mean… I thought I'd get five dozen "WTF IS WRONG WITH YOU?" reviews the moment I posted it. So I'm pleasantly surprised. XD Don't worry about squicky requests, guys. Seriously. There isn't anything you could possibly suggest to weird me out. This is Klei we're talking about here. I roleplay weird shit with my buddies all the time.

**China: **You and your friends are complete lunatics, aru!

**Klei: **Aww, but you're so cute when you're permanently scarring people! :3 And come on, that fic with you got Bea and I on TVTropes!

**England: **-facepalms-

**America: **-cries in a corner-

**Russia: **…You are crazy. And coming from me, that means a lot.

* * *

It was on a comfortable sofa in a French hotel that the conversation began.

"Hey, Vanya?"

"Da?"

America grinned. "I was just thinking…"

"Somebody call the fire department, I can already smell the smoke."

"Okay, first," America huffed, "that was uncalled for. Fuck you. Second of all, I was thinking… I kinda wanna try killing you, too."

That was unexpected. "I prefer to have my skin on my body, where it belongs," replied Russia, turning the volume of the television down. Really, he didn't even get why they were watching it in the first place. Alfred didn't understand a word of French, except maybe 'oui' and 'bonjour,' and he himself had forgotten many of the important bits…

"It doesn't have to be that!" America insisted. "Though come to think of it, I wouldn't mind having a stuffed Ivan to 'play' with…"

Russia's eye twitched. "Fredka, that is disgusting."

"Don't talk like you don't want a life-sized Alfred to keep with you at all times."

_"Surprisingly_ enough, I do not."

"Whatever you say, dude…"

Russia exhaled once again. "So, what did you have in mind?" Because he was a bit of a masochist. Sorta-kinda. Okay, maybe more than sorta-kinda, but there was no way he would get off on his own death.

Why wasn't his body agreeing with him?

"Well, much as I'd like to use torture methods of my own or ones that were once popular here, I totally don't have any…"

"What are you talking about? What about the waterboarding?"

America clenched his teeth. "That's… That's not torture. It's just pouring water on your face."

"Alfred. It's torture. If it weren't torture, why bother USING it?"

"W-well, it's not cruel and unusual…"

"You may as well drown the person."

"It isn't that bad!"

"Da. It is."

"Well…" America murmured. "Even if it WAS torture - which it's NOT - it's not like I invented it, or like I've done anything el- why are you using my laptop?" he asked when Russia opened up his laptop and clicked on the little Google search bar in the corner.

"Looking up popular torture methods in colonial America, of course," he replied as if the answer was obvious. "Now, let's see…"

Before he could so much as hit enter, America slammed the computer shut. "You suck. You know that, right?"

"Let's not forget the way it took you an entire civil war and Martin Luther King to give African Americans the same rights as everyone else!" Russia chimed. "And don't forget your treatment of the-"

"OKAY, I GET IT!" America insisted. "I'm not perfect! Now shut up! It's not like I'm the only one who's done bad things… You've done some pretty shitty stuff yourself!"

"Nyet, you are not, and I have. However, at least the others and I admit to our faults."

"Like hell you do!" America responded, indignant. "Give me that laptop. I guarantee to you that I can find ten threads hating on me, and they'll all be by people from other countries saying they're so superior because they don't have slow metabolisms." He reached out to grab at it, but Russia pulled it away.

"Those are citizens, Fredka," he replied. "I meant the nations themselves." He paused. "And somehow I doubt the problem is solely because of 'slow metabolisms.' "

"WHATEVER! We're getting off-topic here!" snapped America. "So, well…" The anger quickly faded, replaced with a small, embarrassed blush. "I… Well, you know how we talked about erotic asphyxiation?" he asked, reaching over and fingering the taller nation's scarf. "I kinda wanted to…"

"Choke me to death?" Russia finished for him. An awkward silence followed, broken when he spoke up once more. "I am almost offended, Fredka…" Before America could pout, he continued; "I am capable of handling far worse than suffocation."

America, who had quite clearly been nervous up until that point, suddenly jumped up and wrapped his arms around the other. "You mean you'll let me do it? That's awesome!"

Russia brought his arms up defensively. "I did not say that!"

"Oh, come on!" America whined, nibbling on the elder's neck. "You said yourself it would only take about an hour to recover… Not like you'd miss out on anything important."

Russia did his best to suppress the shiver of pleasure that resulted from the contact, but ultimately failed. "I suppose it couldn't hurt…" Was he seriously letting himself get coerced into letting America suffocate him? "However, you will owe me." There. He refused to do it willingly unless he got something in exchange.

"You already skinned me, what more do you want?" America huffed.

"As I seem to recall, I didn't enjoy that," said Russia flatly. "When you suggested I fuck you after your rectum was sliced open, my penis receded."

Unable to think of a good comeback, America opted to look away, in the direction of the coffee table. "Alright, alright, what do you want?"

"I-"

"No confidential stuff!" Alfred quickly added.

Ivan rolled his eyes. How paranoid. "I wasn't going to ask that."

"Fine, what is it, then?" America asked, disbelieving.

Time to ask about something he had wanted for a long time. A long, long time. "I want you…" Russia began, smile widening, much to his partner's obvious distress.

"This better not be a reference to that Uncle Sam poster…"

"…to let me fuck you while you wear a tutu."

America deadpanned, his irritated frown turning into perhaps the most disbelieving face it was within his power to make. "Dude. I know you take your ballet crap real seriously, but… _Seriously?"_

"Deal or no deal?"

"You're serious…" America groaned, leaning back on the sofa and clutching his forehead. "Fine, deal… Just don't wear tights, you'd look so totally gay."

Wait, what? "Fredka, we are both gay."

"I'm not gay!" America replied confidently. "I just prefer men!"

"That is being gay, is it not?"

America shook his head. "No. Being gay is, like, a sin and shit. It says so right there in the Holy Bible. I don't lay in bed with men as I would a woman. If I were to lay in bed with a woman, I wouldn't fuck her in the ass."

Russia paused. "Are you saying you can only be gay if you fuck a man's vagina?"

"Yep."

…One day, when the global economy made a complete recovery, he would dedicate funds to finding a cure for stupid. Lord knew Alfred needed it. They said that God made no mistakes, but it was clear He had been having too much vodka when He brought America into the world. Or wine, or whatever the heck whatever deity happened to exist chose to drink. Maybe they had some special Heaven-juice or-

Oh _Lord, _Alfred's jumbled thought process was starting to rub off on him. Not only was the disease desperately in need of a cure, it was contagious, too!

"Right. Well…" he murmured, before shaking it off and smiling again. "I will bring a platter tutu with me the next time I visit you."

"There are _different kinds?"_

"And I _will _be wearing tights."

"DAMN IT!" It would be worth it, he told himself. Even if the price was something out of a nightmare, it would be worth it… Even if Russia would actually look pretty good in tights… Clinging to his inhumanly huge package…

"Are you alright, sunflower? Your face is quite red…"

"No it isn't."

"Da, it is."

"Net, it isn't."

" 'Nyet,' " Russia corrected.

"Niyet."

"_Nyet."_

"Nai-et. Niyet! Nya… Nyeh… Nyet!"

Russia gave him a sarcastic applause. "Hooray, you succeeded in saying what is perhaps one of the simplest words in my entire language!"

America glared at him. "Bedroom. Kinky suffocation. Now."

"Say the magic word!" Russia chimed.

"Please?"

"Nyet."

"Nyet?"

"Nyet, I meant 'please' in Russian."

"Pozzyhal."

"Pozhaluista."

"Pozhallooeesta."

"Pozhaluista."

"Pozz… Pozhalu…" America attempted, before grabbing Russia by the wrist. "Fuck it, we're going."

Russia snorted. "You are improving, you just need to work on your ridiculously heavy accent…"

America huffed. "Come on, it can't sound that bad. I mean, your accent is kinda sexy, especially when you lay it on particularly thick…"

"I do not know _vhat_ you are talking about," Russia purred in response, standing up and following America back to the bedroom.

"See? Like that. Doesn't mine sound just as hot?"

Russia thought for a moment. "You sound…" he began, unable to help but allow a smile to break across his face. "Like you have a speech impediment."

"HEY!"

* * *

Several minutes of bickering passed. It was unavoidable, them being who they were. Somehow, some way, however, the two made it to the bedroom. Miraculously, they even managed to do it without seriously maiming each other. America practically shoved – well, minus the 'practically' part – Russia down onto the bed. The moment immediately after was spent playfully wrestling. Alfred valiantly attempted to pin his partner down, but Ivan wouldn't have any of it. As soon as he had been straddled, he held down the man's left leg with his right, and held America's left wrist just as tightly.

With the leg that wasn't occupied, he pushed off to his right. America had no available limbs to hold himself up with, and quickly found himself on his back.

"Since when've you known THAT little trick?" Alfred demanded, blushing at the sheer speed of which their positions had been switched, and he'd found himself spread-eagled beneath Ivan.

"Would you believe I came up with it on the spot?"

"The answer would be 'nyever.' "

Ivan lightly pecked his lips against his lover's forehead. "In that case, I'll go ahead and admit to stealing it from Yao, who may or may not have stolen it from someone else, and as you will no doubt try and steal from me for future use."

"Tryin' to beat my brawn with brains, huh?" said America, a cocky grin on his face, even as Russia leaned in close, his breath smelling of alcohol. He wrapped his arms around Ivan's neck, not unlike a submissive embrace, only to slam his forehead against the Russian's jaw. Ivan recoiled, sitting upright and clutching his bleeding lip. America took the opportunity to spring up and knock him backwards, so their heads were towards the foot of the bed.

"Foul play!" said Russia, turning and spitting a bit of blood out onto the bed. "You can't attack after the winner lets his guard down."

"Who said you were the winner?" America asked, raising an eyebrow. "Now spread 'em like a good boy for me, will ya'?"

Russia simply looked up at him, disbelieving. "I don't think anyone has EVER said such a thing to me before." And lived, anyway, though he supposed America wasn't exactly afraid of death.

"What? You say shit like that to me all the time!" America answered incredulously.

"Oh, I'm not offended," said Russia, shaking his head. "Just a little surprised. I am Ivan Braginsky, after all. Only the suicidal would dare do anything that might piss me off."

America practically purred as he unbuttoned Russia's coat. "Well, that explains it, then. So lemme do something even more suicidal."

"Oh? I can't wait," Russia chuckled, eager to hear whatever Alfred had come up with.

Clearing his throat as though preparing for a speech, America took a deep breath and began: "Spread your fucking legs, you whore, before I spank you into submission."

"You stole that one from me. It's a bit hard to take you seriously when you just repeat insults I've said to you." Like Wheatley from Portal 2. N-not that he was a video game addict like Alfred and Kiku. He liked things that challenged the brain. Puzzles. Tetris.

America pouted. "Shut up. I'm trying to be one of those super macho pornstar tops. Hang on, gimme another chance!" He coughed a little more, held up his shoulders in an attempt to broaden himself a little, and gazed down at Ivan with a look that could only be described as hungry. Of course, Alfred was ALWAYS hungry, so it could easily have been a yearning for a hamburger as much as it was lust. He pressed his lips to Russia's ear and gave it a lick. "Oh, yeah, you like that, don't you? I'm going to fuck you 'till-"

He was interrupted by Russia's laughter. "I-I'm sorry, just give me a… HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! J-just a m-moment! HAHAHAHA! O-okay, I'm good, I, I swear." He reached up and wiped a tear from his eye.

"You could at least PRETEND to be intimidated. Come ON, man, your acting sucks!"

"As does yours," Russia replied, pushing up on Alfred's chest, still quivering with the aftershocks of his laughing fit. "Just get onto your back for a moment. Let the master show you how it's done."

America sat up straight and crossed his arms over his chest. "You know what? Fine. Whatever. Teach me your magical powers of dominion, oh mighty Lord of the Bedroom." He allowed himself to fall back onto the pillows, legs spread and waiting impatiently. Russia quickly got between them and pinned them to either side of Alfred's head. In the beginning, such a thing would have had the man wincing with pain, but with the regularity of their coupling, flexibility had quickly ceased to be an issue for either of them.

"Now," he began, like a teacher to a student, "you can't just say and believe that you're the dominating presence, and assume I'm going to submit. You have to MAKE yourself the bigger person. Seeing as you so often overshadow your brother, and, well, everyone else in the world, I'm genuinely surprised this doesn't come naturally to you."

"Well, excuse me for not being a natural with whips and chains when I clearly have sadomasochistic sex with everyone on a regular basis. Oh, wait, I have a BOYFRIEND that I'm FAITHFUL to. So, uh, there's that."

Russia rolled his eyes. "I'll lead by example, shall I?"

"Please do."

Almost immediately, America could sense a change in the atmosphere, so sharp that even one as ignorant as he could detect it. Russia was tall to begin with, but suddenly he seemed to tower over him, a leopard seal – who apparently moved to Russia for some reason – to the much smaller, very-northern-yet-somehow-American penguin.

No, metaphors were definitely not Alfred's forte.

"You're pathetic," said Russia, cold and calculating. "Shaking like a little baby harp seal before the slaughter." The thing about Russia was that he didn't just make metaphors. He took the predator and turned it into the prey, JUST to make a point. It was a different species of seal, but still. Mind rape.

The worst part about it was, that tone of voice, and indeed his very posture, made it very difficult to refute. "I'm not a seal," America attempted, already feeling the need to press himself further into the pillows. "A-and if I am, that makes you one of those jackass seal beaters that dyes the fur black and turns them into hats!"

"I own one of those fur hats. They're quite comfy."

It was then that he knew he was screwed, in every way possible.

"But," Russia continued, not nearly finished. He pressed his lips to America's ear, much like the man had attempted before. "I won't skin you for your precious fur, oh no. You're too cute to sell on the black market. I'll make you my precious little _pet, _instead."

America shook his head, refusing to just sit back, take it, and prove Russia right. "Y-you bastard, do you even know how to take care of me?"

"Mm, I don't need to. You'll tell me what you need," said Russia dismissively. "Whether or not you get to eat will depend on your behavior."

"Wild animals need to be free." So why did he want to be leashed and caged?

"Once I own you, you will no longer be wild. You will be my captive, forever, until the day you die." His words were outlandish, but America found himself believing every last one. "You will do whatever I say. I am your lord and master."

Alfred didn't need any more persuasion. He was hard, dripping, and wanted nothing more than to get the fuck out of his pants. "Oh, _yes, _sir!"

"If I wanted you to bathe in seasonings and impale you with a pole to roast you over a spit, it would be your duty to oblige. You're my property…"

"Yes, master, whatever you say!"

"…but I don't think you deserve to get fucked. You haven't yet proven to me that you deserve it," Russia finished, leaning back. "Well? What do you-"

America squeezed his legs, pulling Russia close once more. "Oh, _please _take me!"

"Alfre-"

"Forgive me, master, oh, _please, _fuck me before I _die!" _he begged. "I'm sorry, I'll be a better pet, you can cook me up and eat me, just-"

"ALFRED!"

America blinked and looked up, startled. "O-oh, you done?" He slowly relaxed his legs.

Russia nodded. "Da." He smiled proudly down at his bedmate. "Did you like that?"

Though the answer was a huge 'YES!' he instead earned himself an embarrassed glare and a, "Fuck you, I was totally acting!"

"Was not!"

"Was!"

"Wasn't!"

"Fuck you!"

"That's what I've been waiting for you to do, but it's clear I'll just have to masturbate myself to orgasm today!" Russia said mournfully. "And to think, I was so looking forward to you suffocating me to death." He turned and swung his legs over the side of the bed, as if to leave.

"No, waitwaitwaitwaitWAAAAAIT!" America cried, wrapping his arms around Russia's neck. "I can do this, really!" It wasn't that he didn't know how to be a dominating sort of guy. He was, after all, the U.S.A., helping people (whether or not they wanted it) since, uh, umm, a long time. However, the problem with Russia was that, well, he was… RUSSIA. During the Soviet era, at least, he could have easily been diagnosed as B-A-T-S-H-I-T I-N-S-A-N-E. All capital letters on the report. A psychological ailment unique to him, but just as real as anything else.

He wasn't afraid. America was very much a masochist; he could get off on being beaten with a pipe if he pissed Russia off. But…

"There's something bothering you," Russia interrupted, leaning over him with a concerned frown. "What is it?"

There was no point denying it, really. "…Promise you won't get all offended and shit?"

"Alfred, you offend me on a regular basis. This can't possibly be that bad." On the other hand, it might actually be pretty God-awful if even America thought it might be offensive. The idiot never even realized it most of the time. Between communist quips and frequently assuming that everyone in Russia was a miserable alcoholic… Lucky for Alfred, Ivan had taken to finding his horrible ignorance rather amusing, a source of conversation at the bar with Yao. At least his heart was in the right place. Most of the time, anyway. One could always count on Alfred to do the right thing, after he'd tried everything else.

America hesitated, but finally began to speak his concerns. "Well, you know how you were kinda-sorta psycho back then, and you're still a little bit crazy even today?"

Russia rolled his eyes and facepalmed. "Da, da, I am aware of my occasional 'issues,' just as I am aware of yours, Arthur's, Yao's, and the rest of the world's." Maybe America had ADHD. That would explain so much. And England was definitely schizophrenic. Ivan considered himself a little adept in the magical arts, and he HAD been able to mess with Arthur's demon-summoning circle, but magical creatures on the earthly plane? Ridiculous.

"Weeeeeeell, what if I say something, and it triggers that 'crazy mode? And, and…" The next few words were a jumbled mess of mumbles.

"Out with it."

"…and you decide you don't love me anymore? Or worse, hate me again?" Alfred asked, pouting.

Aaaaaaand Ivan's heart melted. Damn puppy eyes. He could put on a sweet face when he needed to, but he was far more into the whole, 'Motherfucking KOL, do XYZ or else!' tactic.

"Alfred," he began. He always had to remember to be extremely careful when America was insecure. Thankfully such times were few and far between, but handling them incorrectly could have disastrous consequences.

_"A-alfred," Russia called through the door. "I was only kidding about the 'whale' thing! I don't think you're fat. Please come out. Alfred!"_

_ "YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND MY PAIN! NO ONE DOES!" America wailed in response. "Now shut up, can't you see I'm busy slitting my wrists?"_

_ "Actually, I can't. There's a door between us, love; my eyes aren't x-rays."_

_ He had to jump back to keep the door from hitting him in the face as it opened. A teary-eyed America stormed out and held up his bleeding wrist. His hair, usually carefully maintained, had been combed over his left eye, and Nantucket was dyed black. "Well, NOW YOU DO! So FUCK OFF!"_

_ "Umm, America, you're doing it wrong. You have to cut vertically, not horizontally."_

_ "SO YOU WANT ME TO DIE?"_

_ Oh, shiiiiit! "N-nyet! I didn't mean it like that! I was just-"_

_ The door slammed shut, and Russia could hear 'Crawling in My Skin' playing inside._

It had taken about five minutes the following day for them to make up, but the time from then to those minutes had been absolutely awful. America had left him about fifty eight messages on his phone, alternating between 'I HATE YOU, YOU GOD-AWFUL COMMUNIST, WE ARE THROUGH!' and tearful pleadings to call him back before he nuked himself. The first was a lie he was far too used to being on the receiving end of (and had admittedly used a little too often himself), and the latter was something out of Alfred's power to do, so he hadn't been concerned. However, listening through them all out of concern that someone had left him a more important message had been agonizing. America was such a drama que- nay, a drama LORD sometimes.

However, those words put a bit of a tear in Ivan's eye. Okay, okay, it was more than a bit; in fact, they got so watery it blurred his vision. He wasn't crying, though. Definitely not. "Y-you're really that concerned over the prospect of me no longer loving you? You would be hurt by it?"

"It wasn't that wordy in my mind, but yeah, pretty much."

Russia pulled him into a hug. "You're not a completely insensitive idiot, after all."

America blushed and pushed him off. "I, I was totally just joking! Fuck you, I'm gonna pound you into the fucking mattress, you fucking bastard! Fuck!" He puffed his cheeks out. "Here I am pouring my heart out to you, and you're just being an asshole."

"Cease calling me a communist bastard, and I will stop calling you a stupid pig!" Russia replied simply, only to find himself on his back.

"I-I'm gonna call you a fucking communist as much as I want, damn it!" Ah, yes, there was the dominating, take-charge-even-if-other-people-were-more-qualified attitude he loved so much. It just took a little coaxing to bring it out in such a situation. "So get your bitch-ass ready!"

Russia chuckled. "You're overdoing i-"

He was slapped across the face.

_Slapped. Across. The face._

He attempted to strike back, but America had his wrists pinned. Strength-wise, they were pretty evenly matched, but Alfred had gravity on his side, and Ivan had no momentum behind him to get anything done. Oh, and Ivan was going easy on him. Most definitely.

Weeeeell, at least he was safe in knowing he was a hell of a lot bigger.

"Now listen here, ya' big Russki," America growled. The temperature seemed to rise. As far as Russia was concerned, they alone were to be held responsible for global warming. "I'm the _United fucking States, _ya' hear?" Oh, he heard very well. _"I _got to the moon first."

Russia shot him a challenging glare. "And who was it that got a satellite up there first? And a human being? That would be _me."_

Alfred slipped between Ivan's legs. "Getting a third of the way to the finish line first doesn't make you the winner."

"No one said the moon was the finish line."

"I'll race you to Proxima Centauri, then. And win."

"That will be difficult with NASA's cut funding."

America appeared to be growing frustrated. "And I see your financial situation is _so _much better!"

"Fair enough…" Russia relented at last. He would cut the man some slack before he decided to 'rage quit,' as Alfred called it. _"Uspokojsja."_

America seemed unprepared to deal with such a response. He didn't know very much Russian, beyond a couple insults and a few things Ivan had taught him that had little conversational value. For all he knew, it was an insult, and Russia didn't seem like he was going to translate anytime soon. "Speak _American, _asshole," he hissed, grabbing Russia's scarf and giving it a sharp yank.

Ivan scoffed as much as he could, what with the difficulty he had breathing at the time, but managed to choke out, "No…such…language..."

"I don't think I've made it clear to you, _Russian Federation. _I don't know what universe you're from, but I want to fuck you," he said darkly, releasing the scarf and continuing to unbutton Russia's coat where he'd left off. "And the United States always gets what he wants. Now _speak. American._"

Russia gasped for breath and clutched at his sore neck, but he wasn't ready to roll over just yet. "At the expense of others. Some 'hero' you've turned out to be."

America tore his coat open, ripping off a few buttons in the process. No doubt something he would be yelled at for doing later. "You're gonna regret those words, Braginsky." The shirt underneath he tugged on by the collar until the seams gave in. The whole maneuver took about five seconds, exposing Russia's sweaty chest.

"You're just a child," said Russia through his coughs. "A spoiled child mooching off of China to pay for all those toy soldiers of yours."

It was clear he'd struck a nerve when Alfred grabbed him by the hair, pressed his knee against Ivan's crotch, and began to pull on his scarf once again. "Do NOT. INSULT. MY. SOLDIERS!"

Russia clawed at the beloved scarf that was quickly leading to his ruin and managed to pull it downwards, just enough to take in the air he needed to speak. "And what have they done to earn my praise? How quickly we forget my contributions to the Allies."

"Zerg rushing doesn't count as a contribution, fucktard!" America snapped, utterly killing the mood in the process.

"I'm… Sorry, what?"

"Zerg rushing! Spamming low-level units to overtake the enemy!"

There was a _reason_ all the times America topped tended to be relatively vanilla. And he had SO been looking forward to the man's wrath after the whole defensive-about-his-military thing. "You know what? Angry Birds," he said flatly, the safeword America had pulled out of nowhere one day while he played the game in question on his cellphone. "Just kill me."

"Huh?"

"Forget the dirty talk tonight. Just fuck and kill me."

"Y-you feeling okay, buddy? I didn't overdo it, did I?"

"Nyet, I'm just feeling impatient," Russia lied. "If we keep at it, we'll be bickering back and forth all night. Just get on with it."

America grinned. "So I did such a good job that you can't wait for more?"

"Da." Whatever helped him sleep at night.

Still, clothes had to be removed, and the rest of them were taken off with much more care than Russia's shirt and coat. Before long, the both of them were completely exposed, save for Ivan's scarf. America, of course, made a big show of licking three of his fingers, taking them into his mouth one at a time, and coating them with more and more saliva until the excess was dripping down his arm and onto Russia's chest.

"We're doing this in the missionary position?" Russia asked, a little surprised when America spread his legs. "Isn't this a little too, well, _normal _for us?"

"Weeeeell," said America after pulling his fingers out and letting the spit from both them and the strand hanging out of his mouth drizzle onto his partner. "You can't spell 'us' without U and S, and the U.S. wants missionary."

"That's the stupidest reason I've ever heard," said Ivan, eye twitching. He pulled his arms back behind his head and yawned. "Still, I suppose it's a nice change of pace."

"Hey!" Alfred whined. "Don't yawn when I'm trying to sex you up!" As 'punishment,' he jammed his fingers into Ivan's ass, just a little more harshly than he'd originally intended. Human psychology being what it was, he responded to Russia's wince with a yawn of his own. "God damn it, now you've got me doing it."

"They say that seeing someone else yawn causes one to do it, themselves," Russia commented, not at all offended. He brought his legs up to America's shoulders. "Do hurry up, because the next time I yawn will be out of genuine boredom."

"It's not my fault you've got such a huge ass. OWW! What the hell?" America yelped when Russia grabbed him by the hair and pulled.

"KOLKOLKOLKOLKOL…"

"…buuuuuuut it's not NEARLY as huge an ass as mine, obviously, hahahahaha, the hero's gotta have the biggest of everything, right?" He liked those kols. It meant he was about to get hurt, really badly. The PROBLEM was that it also meant he would lose the position of top that night if he didn't keep Russia placated. Ivan was, in his own words, 'big-boned,' not fat. Alfred didn't push it. He knew first-hand how sensitive the topic of weight could be. There were very few insults that were off-limits between them (driving each other insane was half the fun, after all), but the subject of comments regarding each other's weights was one they'd both agreed was a no-no. Or nyet-nyet. Or no-nyet, or nyet-no.

Once Ivan was sufficiently stretched, Alfred began to unravel his scarf. "Hold on," Russia began. "What are you doing?"

"I've got an idea."

"There goes the smoke alarm. Again."

His comeback was rewarded with the constriction of his windpipe. America had brought the two ends of the scarf together, wrapped them like that around Russia's neck, and then put them both through the loop, so it would become tighter when he pulled without having to worry that it would slip off. There was only one fear.

"Damage my scarf, and I will _bury you. _And I mean it this time. None of that mistranslation nonsense."

"Ooh, we've got to try that at some point."

Russia blinked up at him. "What?"

"Being buried alive."

Ivan facepalmed.

"ANYWAY," America went on. "You ready, dude?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I assumed you were already in. You're so small, you see!" said Russia. "I thought you might have-" He cried out, a little louder than he'd intended to, as Alfred rammed Florida up where the sun didn't shine. The 'small' thing had been little more than a joke, unfortunately. Size-wise, America was among the largest, though he still wasn't as big as his twin, or Russia himself. "I-I'll get you back for that!"

"Will you?" America asked, tugging on the two ends of the scarf once more and rendering Russia unable to form a reply. "Now who's the little harp seal? This is for turning those cute little babies into furry hats, asshole." He didn't seem to mind the fact that Ivan was completely dry when he began to thrust. More of a power than a pleasure thing, perhaps. Russia himself didn't mind surrendering control, at least in the bedroom.

"That…all…you've…got?" he wheezed.

"Vanya…" Alfred sighed, giving the man a little slack, only to pinch his nose and kiss him. "Mmm…" The precum leaking out of his cock was gradually slicking up Ivan's otherwise dry passage, enabling him to speed up his thrusts.

Russia shuddered, his lungs practically beginning to spasm in an effort to take in oxygen. He was getting light-headed, and barely noticed when America began using his tongue to pick the remains of his lunch from his teeth like some starving animal. Ordinarily, he would have called it disgusting. Then, however, he was too focused on getting some sort of air. Thankfully, Alfred seemed to notice his face going purple, and broke the kiss just long enough for him to take in a gulp of air. Almost as soon as he had, however, the scarf was once again tightened around his neck. America was clearly getting off on the whole thing. He was beginning to perspire, mouth hanging open when he wasn't capable of getting the sweet, sweet air he needed from his nose alone. Each gasp he made almost seemed to be deliberately to taunt the older representative.

Finally, though, each thrust began to strike his prostate. From the way America went from shallow, sloppy thrusts to getting it dead-on each time, Russia was half-convinced the man had been missing intentionally. He would have moaned with each jolt of pleasure, but as it was, he couldn't afford to exhale until all the air in his lungs had been thoroughly stripped of as much oxygen as possible.

He tilted his head back when the light-headedness returned, filling him with a giddy sensation he couldn't explain. A rush of pleasure made more intense when America wrapped a hand around Primorsky and began to squeeze and pump it for all it was worth. "A-al-" he managed. Perhaps Alfred wasn't the best at dirty talk, but at least he knew how to use the equipment his Y-chromosome had given him properly. Though it was a struggle, he managed to suck up a little more air, though it was barely enough to keep him from passing out.

"O-oh, dude, I'm so close," America breathed.

Ivan was too dazed to listen. The only sense that seemed to be working properly at that point was that of touch. Even his eyes had since closed. The last thing he felt before the world before him ceased to exist was a burst of the most intense pleasure he'd ever experienced, along with something warm being spilled into him.

* * *

"-o no no nononono, FUCK! Stupid asshole. GILBERT! Stop griefing my fucking bases, you asshole! I have a bucket of lava with your name on it!"

Russia slowly opened his eyes, groaning at the headache that promptly assaulted him. He was in his pajamas in bed; thankfully, America seemed to have had the sense to clean him up before putting them on. Speaking of the man, he was leaning against a stack of pillows beside him, barking obscenities into a microphone. Once he sat up and regained his vision, he could see that it was a Skype conversation in the background of a game of Minecraft.

"DAMN IT, DENMARK! What do you mean, 'it was an accident?' You led five creepers to my base! FIVE! I- oh, g'morning, Ivan. Or, well, night, actually," greeted America, only acknowledging him for a moment before returning his attention to the game. "Wh-what? Kiku? Don't take his side, come on! How do you do that by mistake? Don't be such a douche, Arthur, you're only saying that 'cause I stole your diamonds. And I wouldn't have taken them if you'd actually hidden them. Seriously, dude, at least try the floorboards. No one with half a brain keeps 'em out in the open like that."

Ivan glanced over towards the clock. According to it, he'd been out for about an hour and a half. "Did you at least make dinner?" he asked, wincing when he realized how sore his throat was.

"I was hoping we could go out, actually. It's not that late, there's still time. How abou- You know what, Prussia? FUCK YOU! You TOTALLY hacked that sword! Oh, yeah? Well, at least I HAVE a boyfriend!"

Russia rolled his eyes. "If you wanted to go out, why am I in my pajamas?"

America didn't spare him another glance. His eyes were glued to the computer screen. "Drive-through?"

"I'm going to take a wild guess here and assume you want McDonald's."

"You know it!" America replied with a wide grin. "Oh, yeah, just talking to my _boyfriend _about what we're gonna have for dinner, Gil. Yep. That's nice. I'm sure your hand is _great _company at night. Hungary will never date you. _What? _You stay the FUCK away from Matthew, you asshole!" Suddenly, Alfred gasped. "Oh, what? You want to titty-fuck Ukraine?"

Russia didn't react in the way America clearly hoped. He could actually pick up on Prussia's horrified squeals of, 'I DIDN'T SAY THAT!' through the headphones. "Alfred, I know he didn't actually say that. Not even Gilbert is that stupid."

America pouted. "Come on, man, I'm trying to scare him a little, here. God."

"Turn off the game, love. I'm sure you're just as hungry, if not hungrier than I am."

"One sec," America assured him. "Oh, yeah, Prussia, we're gonna have some crazy, wild sex. So I've gotta go. See you around. Make sure to introduce me to your girlfriend 'Handy' next conference! Dang, they sure do have some weird names in Europe!" He turned the game off and shut his laptop, before collapsing onto the pillows and breathing a sigh of relief. "Whew, that was exhausting."

"Exhausting?" Russia repeated, shaking his head. A video game? _Exhausting?_ "Oh, Alfred, you're too much."

"If by 'too much awesome,' or 'too much pleasure,' then I'll make like a Japanese person and agree."

Uhg. "Come, little harp seal. You wanted to go to McDonald's, da?"

"I'm not sure anymore," America answered, sticking his tongue out. "Not after hearing that you have a baby seal hat."

Russia pulled America close and kissed him on the cheek. "Alfred, I was bluffing. The only fur hat I own is synthetic. Come on, do I look like the kind of a man who would club baby seals?"

America looked him over for a minute or so before replying.

_"Da."_

* * *

**A/N**

**Klei: **Sorry again for the wait, hope it was worth your time. :3 We'll get back to gore and shizz next chapter. It's either going to be the guns-as-dildos-mistake thing, or America getting slow-roasted over a spit, because it's his turn to die next.

**Russia: **Did I just _bottom?_

**Klei: **The answer is 'da.'

**America: **Come on, I get raped and beaten by you all the time in fanfiction! You can at least bottom in this one chapter.

**Russia: **_Kolkolkol…_

**America: **…or not.


	4. Filler Chapter: Disney World is Closed

**A/N**

**Klei: **_READ THIS, BECAUSE IT'S IMPORTANT! _Filler chapter, filler chapter! This is purely for fun, and sating you all while I finish up the actual next chapter. Just so you know I'm alive. Well, the whole fic is pure fun, really, but this is one of those things you don't have to count as the canon (err, fanon) if you don't want. I just sorta wanted to write it. Funny things pop into your head when you're in the shower! Warning for, umm, well, actually, if I told you, I'd spoil it. So I'll just tell you that this might REALLY freak you out and leave it at that. Maybe even you, B. (K won't mind, though. XD) Seriously. You thought the last few chapters were crack? This one makes me wonder if I actually WAS under the influence as I wrote it. Surely this can't come from a sober mind. Consider this a Big Lipped Alligator moment, because it won't ever be mentioned again.

**America: **I have a bad feeling about this.

**Russia: **We all do.

* * *

"Oh, yeah, that's the spot, Russia!"

England paused as he stood there, just outside America's door. France stood right behind him, immediately perking up as he heard those words. Dear Lord, were they having sex? Again? Why was it always when he decided to show up that they decided to do the deed? Did they have some Arthur-detection system that made them get it on every time he approached the door? The documents were important! Okay, not really, but his boss was going to be a bit irritated if he didn't get them signed.

"Dude, what the fuck? You had it just a second ago! I said that's the spot!"

"This is not as easy as it looks, Fredka."

France chuckled. "Oho, trying out a new position, are they? Maybe the Standing Congress? Much harder than it looks, especially for the dom. I can only imagine how much harder it is when a heavy man like Alfred is the one on the receiving end…"

England simply gaped at him. "Have you NO shame?" What the hell was the Standing Congress? It reeked of politics. That was hardly the sort of thing he wanted to think about in the bedroom. Well, anymore, anyway. Back when their bosses forced their nations to do the deed in order to finalize treaties and such, he'd taken his queen's advice. In modern times, though, he preferred to enjoy sex, the few times he actually allowed France entrance to his trousers.

"I thought you knew the answer to that by now! We've been da- well, on and off for years now, Arthur!"

"Yeah! YEAH! You've got it now! Keep doing that! Don't stop!" said America in a satisfied tone. "E-eh? Hey, wait, you can't finish before me! Hold on, stop!"

Russia seemed to be laughing. "Ah, oops."

France hung his head in shame. "Oh, Russia! The bottom has to finish first! Then you finish during the aftershocks!"

"Since when is THAT the rule?" England demanded.

"Well, otherwise you get soft, and the only way for them to get any pleasure is your hands or mouth. Ideally, you come together, but let's be honest; that's a little difficult to coordinate, unless you happen to be an expert," France answered bluntly, giving England a wink and laughing. "Like me."

Arthur groaned. "This is horrible! I can't just stand here and listen to this! I RAISED the bloody lad, for God's sake!" He covered his ears, more than a little uncomfortable about listening to the moans of the child he raised. All he could picture in his head was his sweet, tiny, innocent little colony being sodomized! Even if his colony wasn't so tiny and innocent anymore. Or his colony. It, uh, it was a parent thing, the 'forever his little baby' mentality. The point being that it was awkward.

"Well, don't just sit there, help me!"

"But I'm already carrying so much weight!"

France chuckled and clapped his hands together. "I was right about the position!"

England slapped him.

"Hold on, I'll just use my mouth, da?"

"What? No way, you'll totally bite it!"

"It's fine! Jus' 'om mo', o'ay?"

"AH! Stop it!"

England was on the verge of breaking down the door. How _dare _that bastard violate America against his will? The fact that the last time he'd seen the lad, he'd just been completely skinned, didn't occur to him.

"It's not what it sounds like," said a voice from behind him. Wait, what? England spun around, only to find himself face to face with…

"Prussia? What the hell are you doing here?" Arthur demanded.

"It's not what it sounds like. I'm telling you, they're playing a video game, or something," Gilbert replied, shrugging. "Russia was aiming wrong, and America showed him the weak point. Then he probably overtook Al and got to the finish line first. And if you have to know, Hungary said she'd sleep with me if I supplied her with a steady supply of porn. I've been here several times, and those aren't sex sounds. America's a total screamer."

France looked disappointed, but England only got more horrified. "YOU FILMED MY BABY HAVING SEX?"

He only realized what he'd said when France and Prussia stared at him. Hmph! It wasn't any of their business that he was still protective of his ex-colonies! Just because he kept trying to fix America's hair, and made sure Canada brought his lunch to the meetings, and scolded Australia for not standing up straight, and… "ANYWAY," he continued, or at least he tried to, until America cried out.

"No, don't use your teeth like that, you're going to bite it!"

"I 'av 'ooh ush m'teef, or ill fall ou'!"

"STOP! You're BITING it! Stop it, Russia!"

France smirked triumphantly at Prussia, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well?"

"He's trying to carry something with his teeth. Probably picking some stuff up off the table, and Al's all worried 'cause it's something important. Maybe a video game controller wire."

"HOLY SHIT!" America screeched. "YOU BIT IT OFF!"

"A-AH! I'M SORRY!"

"Must have been a controller for a really old game system. An Atari, maybe," Prussia said calmly, even as France and England turned green.

"That's it, I'm going in there!" England decided, lifting up the 'Welcome' mat. France simply gaped.

"America really keeps a spare key under there? Isn't he a little too paranoid for that?"

England lifted the mat up all the way, revealing what appeared to be an ordinary, cobblestone sidewalk. "Yes. Yes, he is." He proceeded to lift one of the stones up, revealing a metal cover. That, in turn, once opened, revealed a keypad covered in letters. Prussia whistled.

"Didn't expect that," France admitted. "Did he tell you the password?"

"No," England answered, punching letters into the machine. "Let's see. 'R,' 'U…' " Within seconds, he'd spelled out 'russia-iz-super-hot-and-haz-a-big-cock-123.' Upon hitting enter, a key popped out of a slot. "Ah, there we go!"

"Wow. Talk about a one-track mind," Prussia mused. America continued to scream bloody murder inside.

"M-maybe we can put it back!" Russia suggested.

"ARE YOU CRAZY? IT'S COME CLEAN OFF!"

England quickly unlocked the door and shoved it open. "AMERICA!" he cried. "Are you oka- OH MY GOD!"

"What is-" Prussia began, only to stop and gape. "Oh. Oh no. HOLY FUCK!"

France clutched his crotch protectively, then proceeded to run to the nearest garbage bin and vomit into it. America's hands were covered in blood and being held over what had once been his penis. Russia was swinging the severed organ about like it was nothing.

"SWEET MOTHER OF GOD! IT HURTS!" America wailed, butt-naked.

Russia, in a panic (and equally naked), turned to the others, not once asking how they'd gotten in. "H-hurry! We have to get him to a hospital!" He began to swing Florida around like it was nothing, allowing the head to get just a little too close to England's face. Not knowing what the hell to do, he resorted to something he'd learned from the women of old, and fainted on the sofa. France had since run to the bathroom to continue vomiting.

Neither of them saw America, Russia, and Prussia start to laugh in hysterics.

"Oh, God, I can't believe they fell for it!" America guffawed, tears in his eyes. "That was epic!"

"Tell me about it!" Prussia agreed, struggling to breathe. "Pffft, if they were actually paying attention, they'd have noticed it was a dildo."

Russia chuckled and wiped the red substance off the realistically colored dildo. "Da, it was quite amusing."

"Like, thanks for calling us when you saw the car pull into the driveway, man," America laughed, patting Prussia on the back with a still-bloody hand, getting it on his shirt. "Couldn't have done it without you, man."

"Anything to help a fellow member of Club Awesome!" Prussia replied, high-fiving the man and trying not to stare too much at the enormous horse-cock where Russia's penis should have been. "What'd you use for the blood, anyway?" He touched his fingers to his shirt. "This washes out of clothes, right?"

"Oh, we used blood," America answered casually, pointing downwards in the direction of his crotch and removing his hand, revealing a bleeding stump. Prussia's eyes widened, and his face turned sheet-white. "Why do you ask?"

Neither Ivan nor Alfred reacted when Gilbert ran screaming like a little girl out of the house.

"Well, that was fun!" Russia chirped as America headed to the kitchen to inject himself with more of the anesthetic they'd used to keep him from screaming. The real Florida was in a box to be buried in the backyard.

"Yes, it was," America agreed. "Now, if you don't mind shooting me in the head so my dick can grow back? We're currently denying thousands of families trips to Disney World."

_Bang._

* * *

**A/N**

**America: **WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?

**Russia: **…I don't know how I should react to this.

**Klei: **You're not supposed to know. :D And yes, that's the answer to both of your questions. Again, Big-Lipped Alligator Moment, won't ever be mentioned again. It doesn't really matter. In fact, you can easily skip this chapter if you so choose.

**Russia: **A little late to be telling us that, considering this is the end of the story!

_Edit_

**Klei: **The fudge? FF deleted the password to the key under the mat. Fudge you, FF. Fudge you. I had to add dashes. Stupid anti-spam filters.


	5. Dance or Die

**A/N**

**Klei: **Aaaaaand we're back! Today, our pals here will be using guns as dildos.

**Russia: **America dies this time, da?

**Klei: **Yyyyep!

**America: **Noooooo! I liked LAST non-filler chapter! I got to top! D:

**Klei: **Oh, cry me a river.

**America: **-points to a river- The rain that did that? Those were my tears.

**Klei: **…Okay, you win that round.

**Russia: **I don't suppose we have any say in this?

**Klei: **No more than usual. Which is to say, no. Anyway, gonna say right now that regardless of whether or not I actually type it out, Russia _is _speaking with at least a bit of an accent (because accents are fucking sexy). You'll just have to imagine in yourself, because it takes, like, five extra minutes to type, and while accents sound epic, when you can't actually hear it, and don't know how the words are being pronounced, it can be a little difficult to read. Also, I'm lazy and would probably screw something stupid up. Hard enough to catch myself using American English when I'm writing dialogue for England, man, don't give me something else to keep track of. XD Eraser is a condo- I mean, rubber, pants are trousers, underwear are pants, fries are chips, and chips are crisps. I think. Is the car hood really a bonnet? I read that somewhere, but I don't know. Someone give me a freaking British English to American English dictionary.

**England: **The entire internet at your disposal, and you're seriously having problems with this?

**Klei: **Well, I don't know who to trust on the internet! Someone could tell me a standard British greeting is 'FUCK OFF!' or something, and I'd be none the wiser.

**England: **…I'm going to hope you aren't stupid enough for that example to actually fool you, but I can see your point.

* * *

"You know what we need to do?" said America, grinning like a fiend. Both he and Russia were sitting on the blue sofa of his living room, bored out of their minds. There was nothing good on television – at least, nothing they could agree on – and their work for the day was just about done. The sun was setting out the window, something that would have been romantic to watch were it not for the fact that it was partially blocked by one of the neighbor's enormous signs, telling everyone to vote for a certain candidate. Given that a representative had little to no power over their governments, it was a wasted effort when people called up about how good so-and-so was. Their paperwork was more of a formality than a necessity. When their bosses told them to sign their name on the dotted line, it wasn't a choice. About seventy percent of it was to give them something to do to occupy their time. The other thirty percent were menial tasks that none of the humans actually wanted to do.

"Does it involve dying?"

"What? No, not in the mood tonight, babe," America answered, leaning into Russia's embrace. "I was just thinking… What if we pulled an all-nighter? Sort of like a guy's night out, but just the two of us? And we're not leaving the house?" The flat-screen in front of them continued playing a commercial for weight-loss products, all of which Alfred had tried. He could safely say none of them worked.

Ivan turned to gaze down at him, unimpressed. His scarf hung loosely around his neck; he wasn't so worried about keeping himself covered by it in what was an otherwise relatively peaceful situation. A security blanket was unnecessary when he felt so secure. "You just want an excuse to play video games all night."

"Ha, don't talk like you're above it, mister 'I can blow people who play Tetris competitively out of the water with ease,' " said Alfred, pouting and silently watching the commercials on the television play themselves out, slowly snuggling closer still.

"I can't help that, it's an original game invented by one of my people!"

"It's called an obsession, dude. There are plenty of games of mine that I suck at. And you've even liked games you DIDN'T make!" America added. "Bet you thought you were _sooooo _sneaky staying up all night while I was passed out drunk to finish Portal 2."

Russia gasped and adjusted his scarf. How had he known? He'd been, well, passed out drunk! "H-how…?" he stammered, only for America to smirk and press a finger to his lips.

"You're forgetting, _darling, _about all those remnants of Cold War paranoia. See that clock over the fireplace?" he asked, motioning to the antique in question. Though most of Alfred's belongings were relatively modern, even _he _kept a few old things around out of sentiment. When the lives of your people were so fleeting, it could get difficult not to want a piece of them around at all times. Ivan had an old sword from back in the day that had aided him in winning many a battle, for instance, and a pin he'd received as a gift long ago that he dared not wear for fear it would fall apart. Alfred still possessed many of his old guns, mostly from his revolution, as well as some trinkets he'd gotten trading with the natives all those years ago.

"Oh, nyet…" Russia groaned, turning towards it. "Hidden cameras?"

"Ha, kidding, the clock isn't a camera. It's just a clock." Phew. "The real hidden camera is that little dot in the frame of that painting of good ol' Washington."

Eh, well, it wasn't that big a deal. At least he hadn't found the cameras Russia had hidden in his shower. Ten of them, to be exact, from all different angles. His favorite had to be the one that gave him such a perfect view of America's face as he climaxed, oftentimes coating one of the other cameras in semen and obstructing Ivan's view.

"…Plus, I found those cameras in my shower ages ago. Only reason I didn't take 'em down is 'cause, well, who am I to deny you such a view? I _am _super sexy, after all."

Damn it. "You? Sexy?" Russia chuckled, pulling America into his lap and rubbing his belly like the baby bump of a pregnant woman. "If you want sexiness, you should take a lesson from China and slim down a bit."

America turned his head around and stared at him, horrified. "Y-you think China is sexier than I am?"

"I'm joking, Alfred," said Ivan, smiling and resting his chin on America's shoulder. "You're too sensitive about these things…"

"You'd be pretty pissed if I said I thought Cuba was hotter than you."

"You _hate _Cuba," Russia pointed out. "Remember when Canada visited, and he was wearing a sweater he'd gotten from him?"

America winced. He was a little guilty about tearing it off and burning it in the fireplace, but hey, trade embargo, it had to be upheld, right? Besides, it could have been dangerous, and was undoubtedly filled with commie-germs. He was just protecting his poor, helpless brother, like any good hero would! "How do you _remember _these things?"

"How do you _forget _them?"

"Fuck you."

"Fuck _you."_

"Fuck _me."_

"Don't try and distract me so I drop the subject. You should know by now it doesn't work." Really, what did America think he was? Some sort of a horny teenager? If anything, that was _Alfred, _not him. "You're the physically 19-year-old, here."

America leaned back against his chest and stared at the ceiling. "So?" Conversation successfully derailed. Best of all, Russia, didn't even seem to realize it. He was too busy being smug because he 'hadn't' fallen for it. "You like sex, I like sex. Sex is amazing."

"I think you have a bit of an addiction going on," said Russia. He picked up the remote and flipped on the television once again, in the hope that something halfway decent was on, but alas, all he could find were shows such as Glee, something about toddler beauty pageant, and an episode of- wait, what? 'Russian Dolls?' The fuck?

"I'm not addicted! I could quit anytime I wa- oh, hey, I love this show, don't change it!" said America, stealing the remote from Russia's hands and watching intently. "It's no _My Little Pony, _but _duuuude."_

Russia rolled his eyes. "Alfred, if you're trying to impress me, it isn't working." Oh, he had a bad feeling about this. And hold on… "That woman is very clearly Ukrainian."

"Same diff."

Ivan shoved him off of his lap and seized the remote. "Do you want me to get my sister so you can tell her yourself?"

America laughed out loud. "Ukraine? She doesn't have a mean bone in her body. What's she gonna do? Hug me to death?"

Russia frowned.

_"Vanya, you look so cute when you're playing in the snow! Come give your big sister a hug!"_

_ "N-nyet!"_

_ "Hug!"_

_ "S-sister! I c-can't breath! You're suffocating me! Nyeeeeeeeet!"_

"Da. Exactly."

"Oh."

Bless her and her enormous boobs. She was so sweet, but she really needed to show a little more awareness of her massive rack, especially when they became a hazard for other people.

The show continued on. Frankly, if he wasn't already used to being called an alcoholic communist, and being met with shock when he revealed to America that _yes, _he _did _have an internet connection and email address, he would have been offended. Instead, he couldn't manage much more than disappointment. Stereotypes aside, the show itself was as boring as all hell. "Alright, I give in. Let's play some video games."

"Yay!"

He didn't care that it was clearly America's plan all along. He would rather play _Call of Duty _than watch another second of that, that THING. "So what do you have in mind?"

America began to stack up all his multiplayer games. "Let's play _Wind Waker!_ You can be Tingle! Oh, but what about _Minecraft? _We can totally make a base together and stuff. I've always wanted to build a solid gold dick in that game without using cheats. OH! We should do _Mario Kart! _That's always fun. Or, how about _Tetris? _I know how much you love that one. _Call of Duty? Halo? Four Swords? World of Warcraft?"_

_ "Portal 2 _co-op?" Russia suggested hopefully.

"But I'm bad at puzzles," America whined. "You'll be the one doing all of the solving. Then you'll be all 'kolkolkol' when I die, or send you hurtling into a fire pit."

Russia blushed. "You sound cute when you say that."

"What? 'I'm bad at puzzles?' "

"Nyet, 'kolkolkol.' It's cute. Do it again."

America blinked. "Like this? Kolkolkol. Hang on, I can totally pull this off all scary-like." He got to his feet, turned to face Russia, and raised his hands. "Kolkolkol! Kolkol! Kolkolkol!"

Instead of recoiling, Russia giggled delightedly. "Oh, that's adorable! Keep going, you're simply precious."

He laughed even harder when America continued, failing miserably in his attempt to mimic Russia's accent. "Kolkol, I am beeg, scarry Rrooshian man, land of vodka, shnow, and ginorrmeesh deecks!" Ivan's sides were beginning to hurt, and it was difficult to breath. It only got worse when Alfred began to have some fun rolling his R's. "Rrrrred! Rrrrrape! Rrrrrasputin! Rrrrromanov! Rrrrreally communist!"

"Okay, okay, that's enough," Russia gasped, sitting back up straight as he recovered from his laughing fit. "So that's what you think I sound like?" He liked to think he was pretty fluent in English, and very capable of forming grammatically correct sentences (in fact, half the time it seemed he was even better at it than Alfred), though he rarely made much effort to hide the sounds of his native language. This was partially because even he could be a little lazy at times, and partially because America seemed to find it incredibly sexy. "I'm not sure whether to be annoyed, or flattered that you just called me the land of 'ginormous dicks.' 'Ginormous,' by the way, is not a word." Make that about seventy five percent of the time that his English was superior.

"I just speak the truth," America answered, re-claiming his seat on Russia's lap, sitting sideways so he could wrap his arms around the taller man's neck and snuggle into his chest. He would later deny that he was a snuggler to Ivan in public when it the man made the accusation, with a straight face. "You like vodka, you've got a shit-ton of snow, and your dick is the biggest and most glorious piece of work I've ever seen." He reached down and cupped Ivan's crotch with his hand. "Mm, I still don't know how this big guy manages to fit." 'twas the best feeling in the world when it filled him up, rubbing up against that spot inside him, penetrating him so deeply that the only other person in the world that mattered was Ivan, Ivan, _Ivan…_

Russia didn't seem to notice his growing erection, or if he did, he ignored it in favor of replying. "And you think you sound any better? 'Like, oh my God, I have a gun! Let freedom ring, dude! Anyone who disagrees is, like, a total communist! I'm fucking _American _bitches, why don't any o' ya'll speak English? Don't you know where we are? That's right, _America. _Every country in the world belongs to 'murka."

"I know more than English! I can speak fluent Hawaiian!"

That didn't seem to impress Ivan. "You picked that language up upon the day Hawaii became a state, just as I'm sure you'll very soon start to grasp Spanish. That's how we representatives work. I mean a language you actually had to _learn. _For example, England had to learn Japanese, and re-learn Chinese upon losing Hong Kong. I, for instance, know English."

"Oh, really? Say something in English, the- oh, right…"

Russia whapped him on the head. "You are an idiot."

America harrumphed. "You can sleep on the couch, you know."

"Da, I can. Unlike you, I'm capable of restraint," he answered. "If I told you half past midnight that I was horny, I could have you moaning underneath me in seconds. You're like a bunny in the spring, only it's all year, seven days a week and twenty-four hours a day."

"I am not!" replied Alfred, clenching his hands into fists.

"Fredka, you're hard right now. There's precum soaking through your clothes."

The shorter of the two looked down at his Captain America pajama pants to find that yes, the front was indeed stained with bodily fluids, right through his favorite hero's round shield. "…Fair enough, you win that round. So, then, big guy," he said, grinning up at his partner. "Wanna have me underneath you _now?"_

"Depends, can we use the saddle and bit?" Russia inquired, a smile on his face. "I'll even wear that stupid hat of yours."

America thought on that for a moment, pretending for just a few seconds that he actually had any sense of shame that might not look forward to wearing a saddle on his back, a (human-sized and shaped, designed for sex) bridle on his head and a metal bit in his mouth. A sense of shame that DIDN'T enjoy each tug of Russia's on the reigns, slapping his hip and saying 'giddy-up' with that dead-sexy accent until he was forced to rear up and cry out in pain. A sense of shame that couldn't stand being plowed like a farm, so deep and hard, nails digging into his hips as the abandoned reigns slowly slid over the side of his body and that wonderful seed was planted so deeply within him at the end...! "Weeeeeell, maybe if a certain someone promises to take me out for McDonald's tomorrow…"

"I don't owe you anything," Russia replied flatly. "If anything, it's the other way around." A grin slowly crossed his face. "In fact, I know exactly what we're going to do tonight." He was going to save it for tomorrow, but if they were going to do something kinky anyway…

"What?" America asked with a little bit of trepidation. He had a bad feeling about that smile.

"Remember when you suffocated me? What you promised me in exchange?"

Oh. _Hell. _No.

"NO! YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!" America whined when Russia picked him up and threw him over his shoulder. He pounded his fists against the man's behind, but unfortunately, his lover was one of the few capable of matching his strength. It did little to stop what was coming. "I WON'T WEAR A TUTUUUUUUU! LET GO OF ME, YOU BASTARD! I KNOW MY RIGHTS!"

"Nobody breaks a promise to Ivan Braginsky," Russia laughed, heading up the stairs towards the bedroom. "You're wearing that tutu."

"There's a word for this, Ivan!" America snapped at him. "It starts with an R and ends with a kind of monkey."

"You haven't said the safeword yet, so clearly you're just being stubborn. Because deep down, you want to wear that tutu, da?" Russia asked, plopping him down on the bed.

Well, there went his dignity. "Shut up and get this over with, commie," America answered, pouting and removing his clothes. "Do I need to wear a thong, too?"

"Do you want to?"

"…Yes."

"Then you may." Although, a tutu was not the perfect outfit to compliment such an article of clothing. Oh well.

With that, America got up and darted to his drawers. "That's awesome, 'cause I've got something I think you're going to liiiike!" He pulled out a thong, but the front was patterned like Russia's flag. "Huh? Huh? Do you like it? Do ya'? Do ya'?"

"Ah, umm…" Russia began. His first instinct was to tell America that it was perhaps the most cliché thing he had ever seen, but the man looked so excited about it. Knowing him, it wasn't as new as it looked, and he'd waited for the _'perfect' _moment to bring it out. Ivan opened his mouth, about to make some sarcastic comment, only to smile and say, "I love it, it's cute." Well, a thong was a thong, right? No matter how corny the gesture was. "I'm surprised you actually know what my flag looks like."

America didn't seem to take offense to the comment. Instead, he slipped on the article of clothing with a wide grin on his face. "You're too kind. Just for that, you can have the honor of slapping my ass. Go on, you know you want to!" He grinned and bent himself down over the bed.

"You're putting yourself in a dangerous position, darling," Russia told him, smiling at the tanned buttocks the thong was giving him such a good view of. "Don't make an offer you'll regret."

"Hit me with your best shot, tough guy," America answered, sticking out his tongue. "You know you want summa dis." He waved his bottom from side to side. "Give my canyon a good earthquake for me."

"Don't come crying to me about how much your ass hurts after this…" He brought his hand back, then struck the rounded flesh as hard as he could. America gasped, then moaned appreciatively.

"Alright, then, let's get this over with," he panted. "Thanks for at least having the decency to get a blue tutu instead of a pink one." Suddenly, he blinked. "Wait, I still need to put the tights on, don't I?"

"As do I," answered Russia, undressing himself so he could change. He tossed it all in the laundry hamper; they could always sort through it later. If he went home with a pair of America's underwear, he was hardly going to complain. Knowing his bedmate, neither would he.

America groaned as he jammed his foot into the tights; they were, well, tight, and kind of difficult to get into. "These are gonna be a pain in the ass to get off when the time co- OWW!" he whined after hitting his foot against the bed. "Fuck, this is the sorta pre-sex shit Hollywood always makes a point to leave out."

"And you wonder why you have so much teenage pregnancy."

"Haha, that's funny, Russia, I didn't realize YOU had fixed that problem, yourself."

"I am fully aware of that. However, look at the numbers and you'll see my population declining," answered Ivan, not that he was pleased with that fact. He was the largest country in the world, and yet Alfred managed to have more actual citizens than he did. Damn it. He hoped they were all illegal immigrants.

"Probably 'cause of all the emigration! If I lived in you, I know _I'd _wanna-"

"Finish that sentence and I'm leaving." His 'America's Attitude' tolerance was increasing every day, but he had to draw the line somewhere. At least _he_ kept his own not-so-nice thoughts to himself.

Eventually, and surprisingly without too much of a fuss after that, America managed to get the tights on completely. He could only hope Russia wouldn't mind tearing them open later, because there was no way he was going to be able to get those things off in a remotely sexy way. Quite frankly, nothing about the tutu was very sexy, as far as he was concerned, but, well, he _had _promised Ivan, and heroes never broke their promises. Unless, of course, said promise would lead to the destruction of the world, the death of an innocent, or conflicted with more important things, like disabling bombs instead of being the best man at a friend's wedding. Because fuck that friend if he was gonna get pissed about such a trivial matter when lives were at stake.

"Hey, Ivan?" he began. "Would-"

"Nyet, I would not mind if you had to disable a bomb instead of showing up at a wedding," answered Russia before he could voice the question and startling America, who was pretty damn sure he hadn't said that out loud. "Alfred, your questions are so unpredictable that they ARE predictable. I don't know how that's even possible, but honestly, that is the least of my concerns at the moment. Bend over."

America huffed. He most certainly was _not _so unpredictable he was predictable. Russia was just using some mind-reading device. Or something. He would figure it out when they weren't about to fuck. "So how do you want to do this? Just gonna fuck me in this tutu? Should we have some sort of a lead-up?" He turned his head around to gaze at Ivan, jaw dropping once he saw that delicious bulge in those tights. "A little roleplay never hurt anyone."

"Roleplay? In these?" Russia asked, not sure he'd heard correctly. Well, it WOULD be kind of fun. But plot-wise, he couldn't really think of anything beyond 'ballerina – who is for whatever reason in a tutu despite being male – sleeping with director for a part.' It may have been a bedroom game, but that was just too cliché, even for him. "Only if you can come up with a somewhat decent plot."

"Ooh, ooh! I've got one!" said America, raising his hand like a child in school and turning around to sit upright on the bed, though the platter tutu made it a little difficult. "Dance of the Sluttybum Fairy!"

Russia laughed sarcastically. "Nyet."

"Slut Lake?"

"One more bad joke, and I swear, I will-"

"Okay, okay, I can't think of anything else, anyway!" said America quickly, stifling his laughter with his hand. "I only know The Nutcracker and Swan Lake, anyway. Ballet is for sissies. Besides, all the girls are anorexic wrecks injecting cocaine between their toes!"

Russia's eyes narrowed, and he shot forward, pinning America to the bed. "Ballet is a noble profession! Those who have to stoop to such levels should not have the honor of being called ballerinas!"

Alfred didn't seem deterred. Without so much as flinching at the contact, he grinned up at Ivan and went on. "You and France are total suckers, man. Anyone can dance ballet. I-"

_Click!_

"-would like to know where you got that gun," America corrected mid-sentence when he found himself staring down the cold barrel of a semiautomatic handgun. "Dude, is that a Makarov? You haven't pulled one of those things on me in awhile, man. How'd you get it through airport security?"

"I have my ways," Russia purred in response, pressing it to America's forehead. "Now, then, I believe you have an apology to make."

America licked his lips, no longer giving two shits about the fact that he was in a tutu. "I'm sorry I insulted ballet."

"Oh, no, you'll be apologizing to me with your body."

Alfred's grin widened, and he spread his legs. Finally, some action! However, he was confused by Ivan getting to his feet and taking a step back, the gun remaining trained in his direction. "What?"

_"Dance, bitch."_

That was simultaneously the most arousing tone of voice Russia had used all day, and the biggest boner-kill. Still, he wasn't in the mood to die just then, and while the safeword was _technically _an option, it would be a huge blow to his pride to use it to avoid some dancing. Besides, it was a prime opportunity to show the older representative just how _right _he was about it being easy. "Fine, then." With all the grace of a three-legged elephant on ice skates, he got to his bare feet and lifted one arm to his chest. How did one do a pirouette thing, again? Spinning on one foot, right? He pushed off with his right leg to do just that. Maybe using all his strength to do so wasn't such a great idea, however, as before he could finish a single 360 degree spin, he slammed his foot against the leg of the bed. Again.

"OWWWW!" he whined, though he quickly shut up when a bullet was fired, grazing his arm. Again, he yelped, not so much out of pain, but because it ended up hitting his wall. "What the fuck, man? That shit isn't cheap to fix." Blood began to seep out of the wound on his arm, and he clutched it with the opposite hand.

"Language," scolded Russia, firing another bullet, that time into the ceiling. "Do not test my patience, Alfred. A proper pirouette is done like this." Without dropping the gun, he brought his arms up and spun around, five times. America couldn't help but giggle a little.

"You look so girly doing that!" he explained when Russia glared at him. "Come on, dude, let's just fuck, already. This is dumb."

"Is it, now?" asked Ivan, but it was more to fill the silence than ask a genuine question. Without another word, Alfred found himself flat on his back, on the bed, once again. "Alright, then. We can just do this with the tights still on."

Perhaps it was telling that the first thought on America's mind was 'that's going to be gross with the lube' and not 'that could be kind of painful for the both of us.' "Okie dokie, then. Whatever you say. Have yourself a good ol' time trying to get that thing in with these still- hold on, what are you doing?" The thing going between his legs was far from flesh. No, it was instead Russia's handgun. After making sure to fully load the thing once more, Ivan pressed it to Alfred's entrance, despite the presence of the tights still covering it up.

"Something new," he answered deviously. "My finger is on the trigger, so I suggest you hold still."

America was far from complaining. However, there were some important issues he felt ought to be addressed first. Namely, "Isn't the barrel a little short for this? It's a handgun, man. Oh, and missionary is a bit hard with this tutu thing, can we do doggy-style?"

Russia pulled the gun back and mulled it over. "I don't suppose you have anything longer?"

"Ha, I've got a ton of stuff laying around this place! We can even use the one with the sight! That'll be sure to tear things up a little." He didn't just like pain, or even love it. He freaking adored it, kissed its feet and then let it stab its +20 Flaming Razorblade Great Sword of Unending Agony through any orifice it so chose. If it, in fact, wanted to go for a pre-existing hole at all. For that reason, anything that had the potential to maximize suffering was A-okay in his book. If only he had one of those giant guns from Team Fortress 2. The Heavy's, perhaps. Though, come to think of it, maybe that was just a little TOO ridiculous. After all, the thing was wider than his pelvis. Damn.

"Excellent. Where do you keep them?" asked Ivan, clicking the safety of the Makarov on.

"Under the bed, where else? Well, my favorites, anyway; the rest are stored all over the place."

Somehow, Russia couldn't find it in him to be surprised. "Please tell me the safety is on. On all of them, not just one."

"Well, duh," answered America, sticking his tongue out him. "Just because I'm a total weapon enthusiast doesn't mean I don't handle 'em properly. Everything that has a safety has it on, and the ones that don't have a safety have duck tape over the shooty-part."

Sometimes Russia could do nothing but wonder how his lover was even capable of getting dressed in the morning, let alone maintain any semblance of influence in the world. Perhaps the fact that anyone ever actually listened to him was proof that humanity was doomed. Or that it had been for a long time. After all, China was one of the oldest of all of them, and while he and America frequently butted heads at the meetings, honestly, he didn't want to live in a world where everyone was like Yao, either. Not again, anyway.

"Ivaaaaaan? You're spacing out, dude. As I was saying, you should play Team Fortress 2, 'cause I think you would be an awesome Heavy. Don't expect me to be your pocket-Medic, though, 'cause I'm a Soldier all the way, bud."

"Oh, that's perfectly alright. I'm far better-suited to being a medic, anyway," said Russia, though honestly, he didn't have a clue as to what America was talking about. "I think you'll find I'm quite good at playing doctor…"

"Well, I could sure use an operation," responded the younger of the two, retaining a grin. "I think I may have something wrong with my prostate; care to check up on that for me?"

"Well, it's my duty to ensure that my patient is thoroughly examined…" He dragged a large box beneath America's bed out into the open and began looking through its contents. Considering there were more, it was quite an extensive collection, and judging by their state, they'd all been fired at some point. So at least they weren't left to gather dust as useless mementos. Most of them American, but a couple of them were a little more varied. In fact, he noted with a little surprise, one of the more carefully-maintained ones was a Makarov. 'Favorites,' hm? Personally, there were other guns he preferred, but it was flattering, nonetheless. At least until he found, well… "Hold on, this is a British revolver!" He waved the device in Alfred's face accusingly.

America simply looked back at him dumbly, as though he didn't understand what the problem was. "Uh, yeah. So?"

"So all of a sudden you like _his _guns better now? What _else _of his do you like?" Ivan demanded, pointing it straight at Alfred's crotch. The younger of the two didn't so much as flinch, instead spreading his legs as though a shot to that part of him were welcomed.

"Ooh, somebody's jealous!" taunted America as he flipped over onto his hands and knees, facing away from his older lover. "If you just _have _to know, there's actually a story behind that one. See, France was trying to…"

"I am not _jealous," _defended Russia, but America was already off on a tangent.

"…took a handful of pasta and shoved it into Italy's face, so…"

Deciding that the story clearly wasn't going to end anytime soon, Ivan decided to hit the 'off' switch, just as Alfred got to the part about the ninja bear. Which, in that case, was apparently gun-activated, and deep inside the confines of America's ass. It worked like a charm, because just as he jammed the barrel of the deadly weapon inside, despite the lack of lube and tights, the story behind it quickly turned into a pained whine.

"Hey, no fair, you jerk, I was just getting to the good part!" huffed America, who had dropped to his elbows out of surprise. He turned his head back and glared at Russia, though his fury was quickly dimmed as the loaded gun ventured deeper still. "O-oh fuck!"

Russia rolled his eyes and chuckled. "You don't seem to understand, Alfred. This _is _the good part." He licked his lips, and the tights tore completely, leaving the metal barrel free to slide against America's inner walls. Unfortunately, said inner walls were terribly dry, and while Alfred was fully capable of getting off on such pain, it made it incredibly difficult when he went to pull the gun out without squeezing the trigger.

"What's wrong?" asked America after a period of silence and lack of movement.

Oh boy, that was a difficult question to answer. "Umm," said Russia hesitantly, giving the gun another tug. "It's stuck." Maybe not using lube had been a bad idea. Between the torn tights still partially lining Alfred's rectum, how deeply embedded it was inside, and the fact that there wasn't much gripping room that didn't risk pulling that trigger, he couldn't come up with too many options. Perhaps, if he clicked on the safety? Yes, that sounde- "Where is the safety?"

"If you'd let me finish the story, you'd know that it was broken; doesn't matter, revolvers are safe so long as the hammer isn't set," answered America, unconcerned with the fact that the hammer was, indeed, set. "Can you hurry up, man? This was super erotic at first, but now I'm just waiting for you to get a move on. What, are you some sort of a wimp, old man?"

"I'm _trying!" _hissed Russia. Okay, okay, he just had to take some deep breaths, calm down, and fuck it, he couldn't think rationally when his strength was in question. Raising one foot high up off the ground and planting it on America's bottom, then gripping the handle of the gun with both hands, he pulled as hard as he could.

_BANG!_

Shit.

America's reaction to having a bullet fired up his ass was to freeze up completely, take a deep breath, and scream out in pain; though, sure enough, the second and far quicker reaction was immediate orgasm, splattering himself all over the bed. "FUCK! Just! Holy! FUCK! FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUUUUUUCK!" He collapsed and repeated the curse until the word lost all meaning, just as the blood managed to slick him up enough for Russia to remove the gun.

"S-sorry," he apologized, setting the then-red revolver aside and assessing the damage. There was no sugar-coating it. America was as good as dead in such a state. Quite frankly, it was a marvel that he was still alive then. Somehow, it seemed the bullet hadn't been lodged in anything that would kill him immediately, like his heart. However, it would be easier to name the holes in his body that _weren't _leaking red, especially when he coughed up the metallic substance all over himself.

"I told you I didn't want to die today!" America managed through the blood, though it was horribly garbled. "You fucking ass, you just _had _to go for the fucking gun-fucking, I have a fucking shit-ton of stuff I haven't started that have to be done by fucking _tomorrow, _this fucking shit is going to take days to heal, and I didn't even get fucked, you fucking bastard! FUCKING FUCK!" He continued swearing, over and over again, as though 'fuck' were some sort of an intelligent, sentence-enhancing word. It certainly seemed it, given that he was using it at an average of three times a sentence. Russia could only watch with a strange fascination as America's movements began to slow. "You'd better finish my _fucking work, _you asshole. This is your fucking fault. I just wanted some fucking sex, and you had to go fucking it up with your fucking gun-play. Who the fuck fucks someone with a fucking gun, anyway?"

Even in his dying throes, it seemed his vocabulary was very, very limited. Russia managed an awkward laugh as his dying lover began to zone out. "I will do your 'fucking paperwork,' okay?" Before America could ask, he added, "And I will not 'fuck around' with your 'fucking corpse.' Rest in peace!"

"You're lucky I can't use the time I'm dead to plan my revenge," breathed America, eyes closing. "You totally owe me one. Only upside was that the bullet hit my prostate. That was intense."

It figured that he was more frustrated than distressed about the agonizing pain he was probably in. "I don't 'fucking totally owe fucking you a fucking one?' "

"Fuck you."

Those were his final words. For the night, anyway. Briefly, Russia wondered if a human would ever use his last breath to say something similar. Maybe a torture victim. Well, in the meantime, anyway, he had some peace and quiet. However, the fact that after all that, he hadn't been able to get off, he was not very appreciative of.

"Once more, I'm left to clean up a mess," he complained to himself. It certainly wasn't his fault. Haha, right? Alfred had been the one to say it was okay. Yes, it was definitely not his fault. Therefore he deserved something out of it. "Well, I'm sure he won't mind." He flipped America's corpse over onto its back and spread its legs, pushing both eyelids open. Was it worth it? The man's anus was spilling blood all over the place, and it was kind of gross. Then again, at least it was more intact than it had been during the whole 'skinning' thing.

He really didn't have very much shame, did he? It seemed to be becoming more and more apparent with every second he spent with Alfred. Of course, at the same time, he was beginning to realize he liked it that way. It felt ever so much better than being alone and ashamed. Then proceeding to manhandle certain Baltic countries out of a misguiding yearning for friendship. No, he rather liked friendship and love. Even through economic strain. It was better to hurt and know someone was there for you than fear being hurt, knowing all the while that you had no one.

So that was justification for the fact that he was about to screw a dead man.

With a single thrust, he was deep inside of Alfred, who, sure enough, was incapable of a response. "You are much looser when you're dead," he commented. Just like they couldn't die for good, a representative didn't go through rigor mortis. Even though their pulse would briefly stop, it would shortly kick back in again before such a thing could happen. The muscles wouldn't remain contracted, because while their conscious frame of mind ceased all functions for the majority of the healing process, the cells would work overtime to fix the damage, 'resetting' the body to its original state. Any tattoos or piercings would be undone, and any scar tissue that wasn't the result of a disaster striking their land or citizens would be eaten away and replaced with whatever was actually supposed to be there. Even if there were something that would ordinarily prevent such healing, like a piercing or a bullet, it would immediately be dissolved.

Ivan continued to move himself in and out of his younger counterpart. "I could say whatever I wanted to you right now," he whispered, wiping some of the blood off Alfred's face and chest, "and you wouldn't be able to do a thing about it. How does that make you feel?"

After another minute of silence, Russia decided that there was a reason he didn't mind the sound of America's voice. He'd become so used to it that being without it was almost a little lonely.

"You're still wearing a tutu," he taunted, though his tone was flat. "Whore. Bitch. Slut. _Sooka."_

He tried his best to get into it, but before he knew it, he was getting soft. It was just no fun with a corpse. Russia pulled out and began peeling off his tights. Perhaps it was best to clean up. Then again, there was one more thing he wanted to try. With a mischievous grin, naked and covered in his lover's blood, he reached over and pulled on Nantucket.

He wasn't quite surprised when nothing happened. Apparently not even the marvels that were the oh-so-common sensitive hairs of various nations could do anything while their owners were out.

"So I accidentally murdered you, but at the same time I didn't get off. Therefore, we are even," he reasoned as he swung America over his shoulder. "Say something for 'nyet' and remain quiet for 'da.' " He entered the bathroom, and no response was given. "Glad to know you see it my way."

Something told him it was going to feel like a loooooong wait before Alfred woke up again.

* * *

**A/N**

**Klei: **…and then Ivan was all alone for the next two days. He also committed suicide out of boredom. Twice.

**Russia: **Pffft, you talk as though I get lonely!

**America: **…Says the one whose loneliness caused him to have a breakdown?

**Russia: **That's a lie!

**Lithuania: **Actually…

**Russia: **Da, Lithuania?

**Lithuania: **-coughs and reads off an index card- Ivan doesn't get lonely. So, umm, there. -hurries away-

**Klei: **Harsh, man.

**America: **Oh, I was the one who put that index card in his pocket, not Ivan. :P

**Klei: **I'm confused.

**America: **I owe Toris a favor. Believe me, he's better off for it.

**Russia: **Why are you all implying I'm going to react violently to being told things I don't like to hear? Now tell me it's a lie, because if you tell me it's the truth, I will cut your tongue out and shove it up your ass!

**America: **Ooh! Ooh! It's the truth! Can you cut my leg off and shove that up my ass, too, while you're at it? :D

**Klei: **ANYWAY, for those of you who actually read author's notes for, well, AUTHOR'S NOTES, how about some random info about my goals here? Well, one is a sad attempt at a gory, whore-riffic (see what I did thar?) romantic comedy pornography thing. Another is to use up all my stupid ideas and bad jokes so they don't pop up in any future, serious work I ever do. (Because once I think of something, no matter how lame, you'd better believe it's going to get used, even if I have to re-write the whole chapter to make it make sense.) Oh, and I'm also trying really hard not to have either of them be the 'winner' in the relationships. I have a bad habit of making one person or the other lose every argument, and that's neither healthy nor believable. Not only does it turn the 'wrong' person into an idiot everyone feels more sorry for than the author wants them to (I'm looking at YOU, bad sitcoms and their designated Butt Monkeys), but it makes the other person look like a jackass, which, again, I don't want. Oh, and a little reminder here that what the CHARACTER thinks of themselves is not necessarily what I think of them. If Alfred says he's the world hero, and the sole reason the planet hasn't crumbled, or if Ivan says he's never wrong and that nothing is ever his fault, it doesn't mean I personally share those views. This should be a given, but I've seen people complain before about "making it look like X _deserved_ Y in Z, when clearly that isn't the case."


	6. Hanging Out

**A/N**

**Klei: **And we're back! Again! This time with a hanging! And as you know, it's Russia's turn to die. Oh, and twice the porn, to make up for the wait, and the distinct lack of it in the last one.

**Russia: **Lovely. I'm thrilled. Really. /sarcasm

**America: **Whoo! Oh, please tell me it's as humiliating as my death in the last chapter. It doesn't get much worse than a bullet up the ass.

**Klei: **Better! I'm making Ivan sing!

**Russia: **Please be joking. You're joking, da?

**Klei: **Do you want to be humiliated, too?

**Russia: **Eugh.

**Klei: **Anyway, when it comes to the description of Russia's voice in this chapter (don't ask, it makes sense in context), I've got the original Japanese one in mind. I don't particularly care for Russia's English dub voice. I mean, it works, but it's just so different. A lot deeper, for one.

**Russia: **Does no one find it weird that neither of those people speak, well, _Russian? _You know, _my _language?

**Klei: **Haha, a Russian person speaking Russian? Don't be silly, Ivan. :D What a ridiculous idea.

**Russia: **-sigh-

* * *

"Once more, with feeling!"

Russia facepalmed yet again. His forehead was growing incredibly red, and he was truly beginning to worry that further slapping of it would leave a permanent handprint. "If I do this again, will you forgive me?"

"Mmmmaaaaaaaybe," answered America, leaning back into the soft embrace of the sofa and watching his companion standing in front of the flat panel television with eager eyes. Whatever was on wasn't NEARLY as good as the show he was getting right then. "Come on, man. I think you're getting off pretty freaking easy, all things considered."

Ivan pouted and crossed his arms. "I cleaned up the mess, did your paperwork, and took you out for McDonald's. I think I qualify as 'forgiven' now."

"You shot. Me. Up. The. Ass."

Well, he couldn't argue with that. Begrudgingly, Russia, cleared his throat and began singing once again. "Aaaaaaaah, yah yah yaaaaaaah, yah yah yaaaaaaaah yaaaaaaaaaaaaah yah yah! Ohohohohoooooooo, oh yah yah! Yah yah yaaaaaaaah, yaaaaaah, yah yah…" He would never understand why America loved what he'd so affectionately nicknamed the 'Trololo' song. It was a stream of gibberish that had resulted from Soviet censorship, and yet for whatever reason, Alfred had eaten it up like, well, a hamburger. It didn't even sound like a 'trololo,' for God's sake. "Yih yih yih yih yih yih yih yih yih yih yih…"

"Your voice isn't as deep and eargasmic as his," America complained. "I mean, you can sing alright, but it's just not the _same. _You sound like Ivan. Sound more like the Trololo man."

Oh, how he wanted to facepalm. "I can't exactly _change my voice, _Alfred. And what do you mean, 'not as deep?' " Come to think of it, he _did _use a soft, relatively high voice when he wasn't in 'Kolkolkol Mode' (another affectionate nickname of his oh-so _'brilliant'_ lover). Not that it wasn't masculine, of course.

"Try something higher. That Vitas guy from the opera thingy magiggy was cool!" America suggested all too eagerly.

"Why don't you remember any of my _classics?" _Russia huffed. "You couldn't care less until it becomes an internet meme. Then all of a sudden it's the best thing ever."

"I know Korbenky!"

_"Korobeiniki._ Da. Of course you do. It was the _Tetris _theme."

"What about _Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy?"_

"You're going to need to try harder than that."

_"Russia is Gay, _by Rucka Rucka Ali!"

"Now you're just asking to be strangled."

America quickly shook his head. "No, no, it's a real song! Check it out, I have it on my Android." Of course, it was far from a classic, or even a Russian song, buuuuuuuut…

"What happened to the iPhone?" asked Russia, torn between demanding America's heart for downloading something with such a title and wondering why his lover had a different phone for every season.

"Fuck the mainstream, yo!" was the only answer he received as America whipped out the suspiciously similar-looking phone and began scrolling through music. "Oh, here we go!" He hit 'play' with unmitigated zeal.

_"R-r-r-r-russia is gaaaaaa-"_

It took exactly two seconds for Ivan to snatch the phone out of Alfred's hands and hit the pause button. "I hope you're aware of how racist I find this."

America grabbed it back and began fast-forwarding through the song. "That's okay, it insults my people, too! So it's all good. Lots of uber offensive stuff-"

" 'Uber' isn't a word."

America scoffed. "Go talk to England if you care so much. ANYWAY, lots of uber offensive stuff about 'nam, and shit. But dude, it's sooooo catchy!" Once again, he hit the play button.

_"-have never seen a real black man, I'm poo-oo-oo-oor! I sold my child for a sip of vodka, my-"_

"Okay, I've heard enough. You've had your revenge. No more music," said Russia flatly. "Turn it off now."

_"-them Russians ain't gonna take Vietnam, not without ME in charge…"_

At last, America turned the phone off. "Come on, don't be such a spoil-sport! Stereotypes are all in good fun, right? All together, now! _Don't wanna be an American idiot!"_

"All in good fun until the murder starts," answered Russia, glaring down at America just before he sat beside him on the sofa. "You know that just as well as the rest of us, Mr. Freedom of Speech Minus the Politically Incorrect."

America swung his arm over Russia's shoulder and laughed. "What are you talking about? People can say whatever they want, so long as it isn't something insane like the 'FIRE' in a crowded theater example."

"Oh, really, then? I can say _anything, _and you won't be upset?"

"Yep!"

Russia exhaled. America just made it too easy. "Nigger."

Sure enough, Alfred hurriedly slid away from him. _"OH MY GOD! _You, you, you just…"

"Midget."

"Nonononono! Stop it! Stop it right now!"

"Faggot. Cracker. Kraut. Mentally retarded."

He'd succeeded in getting America to cover his ears. "Okay! I fold! You win! You fucking win! Just stop _talking _like that!"

"Handicapped."

"IT'S HANDI-CAPABLE! And it's African American, and vertically challenged, and person who prefers men, and Caucasian, and Germans who are no longer Nazis and therefore people who shouldn't be insulted like that because racism is wrong, and mentally _challenged, _and oh God…" America rambled on. Russia quickly took his shoulder before his miniature breakdown got any worse.

"Alfred, calm down. Freedom of speech, da? They're just words!"

"They're _hate crimes!"_

"Yet that song is okay?" He really didn't care as much as he was letting on. It was just too much fun to poke fun at all of Alfred's little inner contradictions. The fact that he was almost completely ignorant of Ivan's own inner workings and couldn't properly insult him back only made it funnier.

America, eye twitching, slowly edged back over to Russia. "Yeah, it is. You're a real bastard. I hope you know that."

"You've made me well aware! Now, what say you to a little romp?" suggested Ivan, wrapping his arms around the younger. "I'm sure you must be feeling so unfulfilled from the last time."

"Gee, I wonder why?" snapped Alfred, voice thick with sarcasm. Still, he didn't seem averse to the idea, instead pushing himself closer, leaning against Russia and slowly unbuttoning the shirt he'd been wearing with one hand. The other was quickly making its way to Ivan's chest. "Ya' know, I still don't _quite _forgive you for that lead dildo of yours."

"I don't suppose there's an easier way of making up for it than singing horrible songs?"

America pouted. "The Trololo song is awesome. You're just not hip. You're UN-hip. Which is ungood. And I'm the goodest. Doubleplusgood."

Russia raised an eyebrow. "Since when did you start reading real books? I wasn't aware you had a fondness for Orwellian society. Seeing as it goes against everything you claim to stand for, and all."

"One, I looked it up on Wikipedia to impress England," answered America with a wink. "Two, I may hate the system and its commie-ness, but I can totally dig Newspeak. It makes so much more sense! Why have so many words, man? So people who know a lot more than other people can sound intelligent with their 'vast vocabularies?' "

Russia was about to retort that languages were beautiful things, and the whole concept of Newspeak was absolutely painful for even he, someone whose native language wasn't English, to think about. Not to mention, America had apparently missed the whole point of taking away all the 'bad' words. However, he was in the middle of trying to initiate sex, and America had a habit of throwing a bit of a tantrum when people didn't agree with him. It was usually bearable, and their bickering certainly made the relationship more interesting, but he still hadn't gotten any since the gun incident, and he was horny. What else was there to say? If Alfred wanted to desecrate the English language (further than he already had, as far as England would be concerned), Ivan decided, it was none of his business.

"That's wonderful, sunflower. Now spread your legs for me." America was bad at catching on to subtlety, so he'd long since stopped bothering with trying to beat around the bush.

Alfred, however, was once again displeased by his words. "What gave you the idea that you were topping? You still owe me!"

"Excuse me? I think I've paid you back by now, thank you very much! Besides, it's my turn! You topped the last time!" He could have stopped there, but in a moment of sexual frustration, he added, "And you did a pretty lousy job of it! Honestly, you've got to be the worst roleplayer I've ever seen. Are you aware of how big a turn-off video game references are?"

"WHAT? You said you _liked _it!"

"To keep you from complaining!"

"You lying bastard!"

"You ignorant idiot!"

"You're unbelievable!"

"The feeling is mutual!"

"Good! Now fuck me, you son of a bitch."

"Gladly."

Though he would forever deny the suspiciously high amount of clothing he was constantly replacing was in any way his fault to his boss, Russia tore off his coat as though it were no more than a tissue. America, leaning back and parting his still-clothed legs, gave him a wink.

"I knew it. I'm too sexy to resist!" said Alfred with a grin capable of rivaling that of the Cheshire Cat. He lifted up one arm and flexed his muscles; though Russia would have loved to claim that it was all fat, Alfred's strength had to come from somewhere, and it showed. Still, the fact that neither of them were burly body-builders sure proved that there was far more to it than their physical forms. Possibly magic. Even if they couldn't channel it like England could (though Russia was pretty good at defending himself against and redirecting it) there was a passive aspect to it demonstrated in almost all representatives. Even Sealand had impressive strength and stamina. Which, actually, made some sense. He _was _an abandoned _sea fort, _after all.

"You just happen to be the only one loose enough to take all of me," Russia taunted. That was a bit of an exaggeration. Anyone could theoretically take him. It was a matter of who was actually willing, and who was able to tolerate (or, in their case, _revel _in) a certain amount of pain, at least the first few times. "Otherwise I'd choose someone with far more class."

America wrapped his arms around Russia's neck and pulled his head close to his chest. "You talk as if you have a choice. You're all mine, babe. Both your cock _and _ass."

"Laying claim to the Russian Federation?" scoffed Ivan, pulling America's arms off and twirling Nantucket around his finger. Almost at once, Alfred stiffened and moaned. "That's a bit much, even for you, don't you think? I thought I was 'final boss' material."

"Now who's making video game references…?" America muttered, only to cry out with pleasure and forget the hypocrisy. "A-and you're just a mook to me, man. I-I'm the h-h-haaaaah! Hero! The f-final boss is OH! Oh! F-fuck it, you can stay the final boss if you want, b-but I'm gonna start Sequence-Breaking." Hands had slipped themselves under his shirt, playing with his nipples. "Kiss me, motherfucker."

"We don't have mothers, silly," answered Russia, though he leaned over and pressed his lips against America's all the same. "We _are _the mothers. The motherlands to our people."

America shivered and reached down to start removing his pants. "You're not gonna start going all 'one with Mother Russia' again, are you?"

"Maybe. Do you want to become one with Mother Russia?"

"Only if Mother Russia wants to take care of me like a real mother. I warn ya', though," America added, laughing breathily, "I'm pretty high maintenance. Just ask Arthur."

"Mm, on second thought, Mother Russia is going through menopause. Probably best not to have any children at this point," joked Russia, aiding America in pulling off the remainder of the clothing on their bodies and tossing it to the side. "Although the authority to bend you over my lap and spank you whenever you got too obnoxious would be nice."

"You've had that authority all along, big guy. Now that you're aware, I might have to make my speeches at the World Conferences a little louder!" panted Alfred. He shoved Ivan off and sat up straight, taking his fellow representative's erection firmly in hand and giving it long, teasing strokes. "Ya' know, Arthur always threatened to drop my trousers and spank me in public. Never did anything worse than lock me in a stockade for an hour, though. Uncomfortable and humiliating, but not nearly enough to 'correct' my behavior."

"Is that so?" inquired Russia, an eager glint in his eyes. He'd always been curious as to how America had been raised. So he _had _been in a stockade before. At least England hadn't been an entirely permissive parent. Somehow it was just so difficult to picture the man in, say, his early teens, restrained by the wooden device in question. "Couldn't you break out of it?"

"I did! Well, once," answered America, looking away and blushing. "It, uh, it didn't end well. Let's just say, well, you know my fear of ghosts? The reason for that involves childhood trauma."

"I see." Awkward. Yet somehow, it piqued his curiosity even more. Still, it could wait. America squeezed his erection, speeding up the movement of his hand. With the other, he fondled Ivan's scrotum, gently prodding it with his nails and dragging them along the surface. "Nnghah, you're getting better at this sort of thing every day."

"I may be an ignorant S.O.B. sometimes, but I know how you like it," answered Alfred, playfully licking the tip of Russia's nose. "Although maybe you aren't _as _into pain as I am. Hm. I'll have to fix that."

"I assure you, I adore pain. Just not when I'm the one experiencing it," answered Russia. He briefly brought a hand down America's neck, which was devoid of hickeys. With death being, essentially, a reset button for them, even the ones that he bit into until they scarred would fade after resurrection. It was no matter, though. It just gave him an excuse to keep making them. Over, and over, and over again. "Well, maybe just a little when it's me," he added as Alfred bit into his scar-riddled shoulder.

"Take off the scarf, man," panted America, pulling it off and tossing it over the sofa. "Wouldn't want it to get damaged, right? It can't heal like us." He gently traced his fingers across some of the scars criss-crossing across Russia's neck. "You never did tell me what these are from…"

"Mongol invasion," answered Russia without hesitation. "Direct damage to our bodies may heal, but it seems the scars of history remain forever."

"There's probably something metaphorical about that," said America in an uninterested tone, "but I don't really give a shit right now."

Russia shot him a bit of a glare. "You're not going to so much as express some sort of emotion about the whole thing? No 'I'm sorry, it's okay?' "

"Dude," responded America, sitting back a little to stare him straight in the face. "It happened almost _literally _forever ago. I know it was horrible, and all, but you need to man up and get over it, or it's gonna keep eating away at you forever." He quickly blushed. "Maybe I'm being a bit hypocritical there, but at least I'm not mulling on stuff that nobody alive could possibly remember. Like my revolution! Iggy and I are best buds again, right? Well, sort of. You get the idea."

Never before had he met anyone who could look at him square in the eyes and feel such little pity. Yet, he found himself smiling, despite the whole 'America being a complete and utter hypocrite' thing. "Thank you."

"For the handjob?"

"For being stupid and ignorant and refusing to take pity on me. It's helpful. In a weird way."

America continued to stare at him, patiently waiting for the words he wanted before he continued. With a sigh, Russia obliged him.

"And _da, _the handjob is good, too."

"Awesome! Dude, all this sappiness is really taking away from the sexual atmosphere!" chirped America with a satisfied moan and a smug grin. After another moment, though, he added something, as well. "Oh, and, uh, thanks for, well, uh…"

"Da?" inquired Russia through shaky breaths.

"The constructive critiscisson."

"Criticism."

"Yeah, that. I mean, you poke fun, a _lot _of fun, but you don't stow my ego-"

_"Stoke, _Alfred, _sto- _oh, nnh…" Perhaps he couldn't blame the man entirely. After all, Ivan had begun learning English before Alfred had even been settled. Not so much out of genuine interest as a desire to get started on as many languages as possible, so as to help them communicate later on when he made them all become one with him. His boss had told him it was a ridiculous endeavor, but who was laughing in modern times?

"Whatever!" panted America. "You don't stoke my ego when I don't deserve it, but you aren't all 'blargh, you stupid fat idiot' without reason, either." He deadpanned for a moment. "But when there's a reason, you _really _go at it, dude. Mind toning it down a bit?"

"Noted."

"Good." Like it was some sort of a reward, America ducked down and took Russia's erection into his mouth, deep into the confines of his throat. "Mmm!"

Ivan did his best not to squeak, truly he did, but the action had been so sudden that a tiny little 'yip' escaped his throat. "D-do not do that so _suddenly." _America's tongue slid side to side, his mouth warm and wet as his head jerked ever so slightly up and down the thick sex organ.

"MMmmMMMMM!" was the ever so articulate response. "MmmMMmm!" Alfred lifted his mouth off the sex organ and grinned. "Can't help it. You're just so tasty. I might even bite it off."

"Try it, and I'll lock you in a room and _starve _you." He would just enjoy a beating, so Russia had to get a little more creative with his threats.

"Don't even say something so monstrous. Me minus food equals disaster. Remember our camping trip?"

Ivan shivered. "I'd almost had that wiped from my memory. Thank you, Alfred, for bringing such a trauma to mind once more." There were historic scars. There were unimaginable tortures. There were complete mental breakdowns, bringing one to the very edge of sanity and nearly throwing them off the cliff for good. And then there was _the camping trip, _in a category all by its lonesome. If there had been anything he'd ever gone through in the entirety of his life that was truly deserving of pity, if he had to choose one solitary thing, it wasn't his horrible past that had shattered him repeatedly. It was that _fucking. Camping trip._

Were anyone to inquire as to what could have possibly been so bad about it, he would answer by explaining that there were some things in the world simply not meant for mortals to go through. Unfortunately, they had the misfortune of being immortal.

America leaned back on the sofa, legs spread invitingly. "Well, let's wipe it clean, shall we? Come on, big guy. If you're not inside me five minutes ago, we're through."

"If we were through every time you said we were through, Alfred, I think we would be the absolute throughest couple in all the world."

"Haha, _now _who's using the fake words?"

"Oh, shut up."

Within seconds, he was pressing himself into America's confines, a canyon of which he would happily admit to liking most in the world. Of course, it made it very difficult to look at travel magazines that displayed the place in question, spread open in all its beautiful glory, just waiting to be filled with a sizable, Russian land mass. One of the blessings and curses of being a nation was that pictures of another's land made great porn in a pinch, documentaries even more so. Recently, he'd been taken by a bit of a plow fetish. There was something incredibly sexy about seeing the vehicles rake so deeply into his lover's farmland. Perhaps a little weird to a human, but at least it didn't make him feel guilty when he masturbated to it. Not like the last one involving Floridian hurricanes.

"Ooooh, there!" moaned Alfred, wrapping his legs around Ivan and already beginning to pant. "Fuck, you're a cheater. Don't have to work at all to hit that spot, you're just so big that you keep rubbing against it."

"That's a bit of an exaggeration," answered Russia, blushing somewhat and leaning down to kiss America on the cheek. "I'm not nearly as huge as you make me out to be."

"Dude, you're bigger than the rest of us, and you still have, hah, so many self-confidence issues!" gasped America. "You don't need to invade anyone over land disputes, for crying out loud. Do you really need more?"

"At least I don't invade over the actions of a small, dwindling extremist group," answered Russia sharply, not appreciative of the blow. "Besides, there isn't much you can do with land so far up north. It isn't as useful for growing food, or even living. Haven't you noticed that most of Canada's population lives near the border, to the south?"

"Oh, what_ever," _gasped America, eyes closing and shoulders rolling back, his back arching into a Golden Gate Bridge. "Don't lecture me while we sex!"

"The word 'sex' in that context isn't a ver-"

"NO LECTURES."

Russia rolled his eyes and began to move his hips, only slightly regretting the use of saliva instead of an actual, proper lubricant. "A-alfred," he panted. "Good boy."

"Nottadog…" mumbled America, almost inaudibly, but he didn't appear to care to protest the point further, as he promptly began pinching his own nipples. "Come on, harder! I wanna hurt! I wanna hurt so fucking bad!"

"Very well. Hands off," scolded Russia, batting the shorter representative's hands away and pushing his legs up higher, so his behind was forced off the comfort of the sofa. "You want this to hurt? I can make it hurt."

America didn't fight it as he sped up, drilling into him with all his strength, creating an inhuman force that had Alfred crying out delightedly.

"More! Ivan! Fuck, I love it, just like that!" he gasped, opening his eyes just enough to get a look at the one drilling into him. It didn't do much good for long, however, because Texas proceeded to fall back over the top of his head as it tipped back over the armrest, landing with a clatter on the hardwood floor. Normally it would have been met with horror, but right then, he barely noticed their absence. "F-fuck, I can't see, come closer."

"Near-sighted?" guessed Russia. It was almost funny to realize that in all the time they'd been together, he'd never once thought to ask what America needed the glasses for. It was almost like his scarf; Alfred insisted on wearing them during sex, and was fiercely protective of the things. If it weren't for the fact that they could break, he'd probably have worn them in his sleep. One time Russia had made the mistake of removing them from his companion's face and teasingly held them out of reach. He hadn't expected to be smacked across the face, then shot in the knee for good measure. Upon questioning why he went for the knee, and not, well, the face, the man's only answer had been something to do with guards, arrows, and ex-adventurers.

"Great guess, now _keep fucking moving."_

He shrugged before continuing on, leaning down so as to appease his partner. "Better? It's not like you don't know what I look like. Or like you need to worry about me murdering you because you can't see."

"It's not that," answered America through breathy moans. "I just need to be able to see, ya' know? Not being able to almost feels like…" He attempted to disguise his obvious reluctance to finish the sentence with an exaggerated moan, but Russia had a feeling he knew what Alfred was referring to.

"A weakness?" he guessed.

"I wasn't gonna say that," huffed Alfred, closing his eyes as Ivan picked up the pace again.

"Then what were you going to say?" panted Russia.

"An inadequacy."

"I suppose you looked through a thesaurus specifically so that you could find that word?"

A blush blossomed outward from America's nose, reaching out in all directions across his face. "Did not. Now hurry up before I lose interest. This is sex, I shouldn't be able to talk like this. Clearly you're not doing your job very well."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, really."

Ivan lifted the man's legs up and began driving his arousal into the blonde's heat at inhuman speeds, without so much as a word of warning. Before he could utter so much as a 'woops,' Alfred found himself reduced to a babbling mass of pleasure, eagerly spreading his legs to the fullest extent of his capabilities.

Nice as vanilla sex was, however, Ivan couldn't help but feel like it was missing just a little something. Perhaps it was a bad sign, how unused to the prospect of just repeatedly thrusting into his partner with nothing else to supplement it. Any reasonably sane relationship counselor would probably chew him out for wanting to see the man beaten and bloodied. Even when he bottomed, bad at the whole 'dirty talk' thing as Alfred was, there was always some element of orgasm denial, or biting, or, more recently, getting slapped across the face.

Or maybe the fact that they both adored such things was proof that they were destined for one another. Whatever it was, Russia found himself pulling out. As though America had read his mind, the blonde flipped over onto his stomach without hesitation.

"I was wondering just how long it'd take before you got bored of that…" mused Alfred, grinning wickedly. "Grab my hair, or something. Be a man." Whoever said gay people weren't masculine was clearly an idiot. What could possibly be more manly than fucking another man, or having the pain tolerance necessary for anal? Or being on the receiving end of BDSM, for that matter, but that was another story entirely.

He received a rough slap on the ass before Ivan grabbed a handful of his hair and brutally reentered, continuing on at a brisk pace. The elder of the two wasn't interested in conversation right then. All his concentration was on the moment, on pulling the man's head back until he had to rise up off his arms and onto his knees alone, back pulled against the Russian's chest and head eagerly tilting back and to the side to reveal a prime location for love-bites.

"Oh, fuck, babe," panted America as Russia's teeth sank into his neck. "Conquer me, you son of a bitch!" He closed his eyes and released a keen moan, reaching his hands back to grab the man's hips and pull himself closer.

"Gladly," whispered Ivan in response just before he began licking the mark, pink and bruising. "And when you're mine, I'll do this every day."

"Communist bastard…" groaned Alfred, finally letting loose a ribbon of seed that drizzled onto the sofa below like rainwater from a gutter. "R-russia!"

Russia wrapped an arm around America's waist to keep him from falling forward, thrusting only a few more times into the man's tightening hole before spilling himself within. As he withdrew himself, the fluids followed close behind, leaking out of the well-used hole and dripping down to the representative's inner thighs. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

"More or less," America answered with a wry grin. "Fine, you're forgiven. I still wanna go out for some McD's, though."

"Will it make you happy if I go out and buy you a burger from the drive-through for dinner?"

"Very."

So in the end, they both got what they wanted. America his 'revenge,' and Russia, simply getting off at long last.

* * *

For a roleplay they'd come up with on a whim, it certainly wasn't very whimsical.

_"Hey, dude. I have the best idea ever."_

_ "I hesitate to ask, but what?"_

_ "Well, you know how men jizz when they're hung?"_

_ "Hanged."_

_ "Hanged ain't a word."_

_ "That's what it was called in the old days, was it not?"_

_ "That's a lie. Lemme check the intern- oh, whattaya know, they're both good. Awesome."_

_ "But anyway, you were saying?"_

_ "Let's play Hangman. W-without the words, and the spelling, and shit."_

So that was what had led to Ivan's current situation, curled up on the floor in the basement with his hands chained behind his back, and his angles bound tightly together while Alfred took care of the set-up. It wasn't a terrible idea. Even rather enticing. The prospect of being led to his 'execution' was arousing in a way that was incredibly difficult to explain. The problem being, of course, that he had absolutely no idea what the charges were. If there was one thing he could _always _count on America to do, it was ruin what was otherwise a perfectly sexy moment with something absurd. If it had anything to do with hamburger theft, he was going to be very disappointed.

It felt like he'd been waiting for hours on the cold cement floor, staring at the door and waiting for it to open, wondering just what Alfred would choose to wear for the 'occasion.' He himself had been stripped completely naked. Not that he minded, but it was chilly down there. Used to the cold as he was, it didn't mean he was in love with the idea of waiting around like that in what he was quickly beginning to realize was an extremely poorly insulated room. He drew on his own experience from years long since past to choose positions best for maintaining a fair body temperature, though it didn't stop his shivering, nor his boredom.

At long last, however, the doorknob turned. It swung open, revealing the blond he'd been waiting for all that time, in a surprisingly appropriate outfit. Even his slouching, care-free posture had changed tune to something more like the man that he'd had the most high-stakes staring contest in the world with. His shoulders were upright, and he entered the room as if he owned the place. Which, in all fairness, he did, given that it was his house. His attire spoke of earlier times, far too plain to be anything even remotely modern, but not nearly so worn that he looked the part of a poor farmboy. No, that was a roleplay for another day. Somehow, Alfred had managed to pull off the visible part of his role superbly. Were he a human, he wouldn't have doubted for a second that the man before him had arrived to send him to the gallows.

"Ivan Braginsky," he finally addressed after a moment of sizing each other up. A lesser man might have been fooled, but Russia immediately caught the slip-up. There was absolute delight behind his eyes, and it was clear that the man was taking immense pride in his work. Ah, well, he could ignore it in favor of pretending it was contempt. "It's time. One last chance to confess to your crime."

Had he even decided on what it was? "Never," spat Ivan, just as pleased with his own acting as Alfred obviously was with his own. How very much like a cornered animal, so defiant, yet shaken. It was movie-worthy, truly. At least, he very much liked to think so. "I'm innocent of all charges. You and your mock trial cannot change that." It did make him wonder, though. _Was _he guilty, or was he innocent? It didn't really matter, in the end, but it felt so odd not to establish it. Hopefully America would at least tell him what he'd been convicted of doing.

"Liar," answered his ordinarily shorter companion, though, given that Russia was sitting pressed against the wall, America managed to tower over him. For once. "The priest saw you. Your neighbors, too. They've all come forward, against you." Oh, for fuck's sake, what _was _it? "We know what you are. _Witch," _he hissed, giving Ivan a solid kick to the chest. "Chanting black magic in the night, and rendering John's crops unable to grow. Katherine's fallen ill, and Thomas' slave simply keeled over and died working the fields! _Admit your sins, _foul creature, before we send you straight to the depths of Hell!"

Admit his sins, right after the man before him had condoned slavery? He had to applaud the dedication to getting the historical mindset down, but it was just so, dare he say it, _funny _to be reminded of just what kinds of idiotic beliefs they and their people held so long ago. Of course, he'd probably say the same thing about the present in a hundred more years. Progress had a way of doing that. "Black magic? 'twas only the language of my homeland, a conversation with my sister." Never mind that it made little sense. He was making things up on the fly, damn it. "Those things were simply coincidences they chose to pin on me."

"You turned me into a newt!"

There was a moment of silence as Russia considered breaking free of the chains and throttling America for ruining the moment with a Monty Python reference while the aforementioned nation held in his laughter, broken only when his 'executioner' regained his composure and coughed into his hand.

"Anyway," he went on, snapping his fingers. "Up, witch."

Ivan grinned up at him, unmoving, not so much as bothering to cover himself up. He wanted to make it very clear that he wasn't the type to go down easy. "Don't think you can fool me. You're just waiting me to accept what you've addressed me as and get up, confessing by proxy. Save the trickery for someone who appreciates your efforts."

It would be a lie to say he didn't anticipate the foot that quickly slammed against the side of his jaw, knocking him to the ground with a loud _crack. _The attack dazed him, to say the least, and it was a moment or so before he was able to translate the American's words in his head.

"It wasn't a question. Now _get up."_

Russia was about to retort, but opening his jaw proved incredibly painful. As he sat back up, shoulders hunched over, he brought a hand up to examine the damage. It was completely dislocated on the side America had struck. Not that he'd really expected any different. An impressive display, if not somewhat over the top. Then again, Alfred was probably sick of hearing him talk back. Very well, he was tired of sitting there anyway. He took a deep breath and snapped his mandible back into place. Sloppy work that would shame the professionals, and he'd probably damaged something in the process, but fuck it, he was about to 'die.' That done, he stood up, opening and closing his jaw to make sure it was working properly.

"So I'm guilty until proven innocent, it would seem? And with no means of doing the latter. What a lovely system," he mused sarcastically, though perhaps it was a bit of hypocritical humor.

"Tell it to the judge," answered America flatly, withdrawing a blade from his pocket and pressing it to his back. "Who in this case is God. He's the only one who can judge your sins."

"In case you haven't noticed, you're judging me right now."

"You've been convicted of _witchcraft, _and you want me to be _logical?"_

"Fair enough."

It seemed neither of them could remain serious for very long. Hm, a bit of practice would be in order. As he stepped barefoot out into the hallway, slowly inching along as a result of his closely chained ankles, America stood just behind him at all times, making sure to keep a firm grip on the iron cuffs on his wrists. As though it would actually hold him, if he really wanted to escape. They both knew better, but, again, that wasn't the point.

He found it interesting, just how much had been cleared out of the way in order to make the place seem older. Electronics had been unplugged and hidden, the sockets covered or downplayed. The fluffy new rug in the living room had been replaced by something that looked like it had been in storage for a good hundred years, maybe more. Straw that looked suspiciously like the fake kind from the Halloween party last October was strewn about. Even the ceiling fan had been unscrewed, modern furniture replaced by wooden chairs and such. Thankfully, the ceiling was high, so the single noose hanging in the center of it all didn't look _too _silly, though an outdoor execution would have been preferable. Obviously, however, that was out of the question. Last thing they needed was a neighbor noticing the commotion and calling the police.

"Any last requests?" asked America dryly, failing in his effort to hide the grin on his face. "These are, after all, your soul's final moments on this plane."

"A shot of vodka would be nice."

If Alfred was disappointed, he didn't show it. He shoved Ivan up onto a table at knife-point, then wrapped the chains around his ankles through the furniture's legs, tightening it up to prevent any 'escape attempts.' "You're in luck. I just so happen to have a bottle imported aaaaaall the way from Russia. I don't suppose you want anything mixed into that?"

"Just straight vodka, thank you," answered Russia. He knew exactly which bottle America was talking about, too. He'd brought it over himself; his favorite kind. "Oh, and if you don't mind, there's this lovely French pastry I've acquired a taste for…"

"Don't push it," said America flatly on his way out. It was only a moment before he returned with the requested drink, making it rather obvious that he'd poured it in anticipation of that moment beforehand. So he _wasn't _completely unable to make predictions regarding the future. Or perhaps his favorite drink was just _that _predictable. "Open wide! Freaking alcoholic."

"I can quit anytime I want," he answered without much thought, taking the shot glass and downing it immediately. Just as he remembered it, the taste of almost unfiltered alcohol. It seemed like only a week ago he'd chugged two bottles and passed out in the shower. Oh, wait, no, that had been yesterday.

"Well, then, any _other _requests?" inquired America, leaning over the table so his nose was just under Russia's exposed manhood. "I can't imagine you want to leave the mortal plane with just a bit of vodka on your way out." He pressed his cheek lightly against the side of the organ, which had already begun to stir.

"I can think of a few, but I doubt an upstanding puritan such as you would indulge me," he answered, hands jerking apart only to be stopped by the chains keeping them behind his back. Tempting as it was to break them, he was determined to stay in character.

"I'll just blame it on your witchcraft later," said Alfred. He climbed up onto the table, reached out, and slipped the noose over Ivan's head and around his neck. "They'll take my word for it, just as they took the word of the so-called witnesses." He tightened the rope and held up a black execution hood, which he slipped over Russia's face, obscuring his vision. It was a nice touch, though he hesitated to ask just where he had gotten it from. A costume store of some sort, hopefully.

"I thought you were supposed to ask me if I wanted to be hooded," he commented, hands he could no longer keep track of with his eyes sliding around his body. He could hear Alfred circling him on the table like a vulture would a dying animal; he could feel the way the wooden furniture creaked under his boots. Fingers slid under the noose and hood to feel the jagged scars of his neck and chest, nails dragged down as if ready to re-open each one.

"I had a feeling you wouldn't object…" purred his executioner, stopping in front of him to slide his other hand over the hood and up under his covered chin. It remained for only a moment, however, before being lifted away and wrapped around Russia's half-erect penis in his hand. There was a light thud as he dropped to his knees, his tongue curling under its swollen head, slathering it with a generous amount of saliva.

Ivan jerked his hips forward, trembling and making a conscious effort not to let his knees buckle. It wouldn't be a sharp enough drop to spell his end, but it still have the potential to cause him enough pain to distract him from the blowjob. America might have liked it in any way, shape, or form, but he didn't particularly care for it unless it was being intentionally administered. It was the difference between getting sliced up, and accidentally cutting your finger chopping vegetables. One was sexy, and one was an aggravating accident.

It took what seemed to be minutes before America finally took him into his mouth, and even then it was only the tip. It was clear he was going to take his time and draw it out for as long as possible. He never showed patience or self-control unless he was the one doing the teasing. It was such a shame that he couldn't see or move, completely unable to so much as lift a bare foot up to feel just how hard his companion was getting from their little game. That said, he heard the rather distinct sound of shifting clothing before the soft rapping sound of a man stroking himself. He hoped it wasn't Alfred's intention to hide that he was pleasuring himself, because it was being made incredibly obvious.

The pleasure was almost hypnotizing, as Alfred took him deeper, tongue grazing along just hard and fast enough to provoke a response, yet just soft and slow enough to create a sensation that could almost be described as burning. Every pulse of his executioner's tongue became more and more arousing, as each time it swirled around gradually became rougher. There was simply no denying that America had sucked him off often enough to know just how he liked it. Sure enough, even his teeth started to get some use, dragged along the sensitive flesh without completely chomping down. Every time the younger representative pulled his head back, not only was their a feeling of loss, but the cold of the air on the saliva-coated skin created a discomfort, one that Alfred took his own sweet time in remedying.

It was more than a little surprising when America pulled back completely, leaving his dripping erection unattended, rather than taking it to the back of his throat, something that both of them so enjoyed. Instead, he stood up, rubbing what felt suspiciously like his own length against Russia's.

"I thought," panted Ivan through the hood, which had become so hot that beads of sweat had begun to pour down his cheeks, "that 'though shalt not lay with a man as one would a woman.' "

"And I wouldn't fuck a woman up the ass. Come on, I thought we already went over this!" answered America, and Russia could almost _hear _his grin. "Nor would I rub our cocks together. Besides, you don't seem to be complaining, witch."

Ah, yes, the charges, he'd almost forgotten. "I don't recall having admitted guilt."

"Like an ordinary mortal could possibly be this big without magic," scoffed America in retaliation. A loud moan spilled from his lips, and he rolled his hips forward to get more friction. Russia wasn't about to complain, feeling himself draw closer to the edge with every millimeter of movement, biting his own tongue to keep silent. "So thick and delicious. Enough to tempt any person of your choosing. I don't know what you call a male temptress, but that's what you are."

Ah, he'd gotten so used to the 'proper' language that he'd almost forgotten who he was dealing with. "Temptation that you seem to have given in to." He knew his mistake almost as soon as he made it.

"I do believe that qualifies as a confession, darling," said Alfred in a smug tone, releasing Ivan's cock to stick out on its own, hard and unattended, in favor of wrapping his arms around the back of his neck and pulling him forward for a quick kiss through the black hood, though it meant the rope would dig into his neck. "Vile male temptress, today your scourge on mankind ends. Not before a little humiliation, of course." The sounds of America's panting grew in intensity, as did the sounds of his own masturbation, until Russia could feel the man's seed splatter across his abdomen. "Aww, poor thing, did _you _want one last orgasm, too?"

He was going to make him beg, wasn't he? That whore would pay for that, damn it. Later, though, because he was going to go insane (again) if he didn't get off in a timely manner.

"Da," he answered softly, a chip of his pride falling to the table below him. "Pozhaluista." There went another chip.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't understand. Care to repeat that in a more civilized tongue?" asked America in a mockingly innocent tone of voice.

He was going to _kill _Alfred when he woke up again for that comment, but until then, he was, unfortunately, at the man's mercy. Russia felt himself sway forward as his executioner's thumb teased the slit of his erection. "I said _yes, please." _He did his best to keep the venomous tone to a minimum, difficult as it was to disguise his malice when he knew very well how desperate he sounded beneath it all.

"I don't like your tone. Try again."

Fuck him, fuck him, _fuck him. _He wasn't even getting off anymore, he just liked playing the tormenter. "Please," he tried again, in what he could only hope was an acceptable manner.

"Please _what?" _asked America, faking a yawn, as though he could go on all day. Russia did not appreciate the use of one of his favorite ploys against him, but he supposed it was just karmic punishment.

"Please put it in your mouth, _sir," _he added, though his voice was once again scathing. Alfred seemed placated, however, for he got down on his knees once again.

"Well, since you called me 'sir,' and all, I guess I've got no choice!" he said all too sweetly, and without so much as a moment more of hesitation, he took Russia's erection to the back of his throat, repeatedly swallowing around it for the entire twenty seconds or so that it took before the 'witch' finally came in his mouth, the pleasured noises poorly muffled by the hood over his head. Every last drop was swallowed, allowing him to rest assured that all those innocent sperm would meet an untimely death racing to the 'womb' that would very quickly turn out to be full of acid and partially digested hamburgers.

Once he was done, America removed himself from the quickly-softening organ and got to his feet once again, circling around behind Russia and pressing his cheek to his back.

"I could cut you loose," he murmured, hot breath meeting Ivan's back and warming his shivering form. "Or I could push you to your death. Decisions, decisions." His arms made there way around Russia's waist, hands playing with his limp penis. "But neither are mine to make. You've been found guilty, big guy, and that's the end of that." With speed Ivan hadn't been aware Alfred even possessed, he let go, pulled his arms back, and shoved him off the table. He felt himself falling over, the solid table slipping out from under his feet, the rope on his neck pulling back. In the course of that once second, he felt a snap.

After that, he felt nothing at all.

"Best Halloween decoration ever!" said America to himself, watching Russia's lifeless body sway from side to side. "And England wonders why I don't believe in magic. Never did anyone any good." It was true enough. He'd abandoned his childish belief in such things shortly after the witch trials in Salem. Still, it had seemed such a fitting excuse to hang his lover, conviction in those trials he regretted with a passion. He had a feeling it was a bit more interesting than his first idea, having to do with communism and spying. While that may have made more sense, even _he _was getting a little tired of that plot, and their sexual bedroom interrogations of one another. Hot as it was to feel fingers probing around inside of him, searching for 'illegal contraband.'

He lifted the hood up over Ivan's face, turning the swaying corpse around to face him. It was an eerie, yet familiar sight, one that reminded him that however bad he might feel about modern times, at the very least he wasn't still sending people to the gallows.

What did mortality feel like? It was a question he couldn't help but ask himself at times. What was it like, knowing that there was a definite _end? _That your life could not, theoretically, go on forever and ever? It was something he'd been giving more thought to than he cared to admit for fear of looking like an old man. Something he'd admittedly only started thinking about when he got the 'Dragonrend' shout in Skyrim, forcing the immortal creatures to comprehend finite life.

He could have gone on thinking about that sort of topic for hours, wondering what his reaction would be were he to be made to truly _comprehend _a permanent death, to understand what it really meant to be gone forever.

Or he could just play more Skyrim and show those pussy dragons who was boss. That sounded much more exciting.

* * *

When Russia woke, he was in the bedroom, once again beside his lover as he played a video game. "Fus ro DAH, motherfucker!"

"How long-" he began, rubbing his eyes, only to be interrupted mid-sentence.

"Past few hours. Now ssssssh, I'm on a quest with a lot of puzzles, I've gotta concentrate."

Ivan sat up, looked over his shoulder, and rolled his eyes. "Why are you a lizard, Alfred?"

"I'm not a lizard, I'm a freaking dinosaur. Argoni-whatever, or something. Now be quiet, dude, they're talking and I don't have subtitles on!" hissed America defensively while his 'dinosaur' chopped a cat-person's head off. "Fuck yeah, that's what you get for referring to yourselves in third person! America will kill you all!"

"…I'm going back to sleep."

"G'night."

He would strangle America for calling his language uncivilized in the morning. Alfred would be able to rest assured that he _would. NOT. Forget._

* * *

**A/N**

**Klei: **Hoorah! Next chapter shall be cannibalism. Alfred gets baked, and then there will be cake. :D Well, he won't be baked INTO a cake. Who wants a meat-cake? Eww. He'll just be a delicious roast. Or maybe a fillet. Perhaps his organs removed and cooked in a nice gravy, and his body stuffed to be cooked up in the oven. Maybe sliced up and grilled? Oh, and what to do with the penis?

**America: **You're sick! How could you use the P-word?

**Russia: **…Did you pay attention to anything she said before 'penis,' or are you just _that _stupid?

**America: **What? What did I miss? She got my attention at 'roast.' Yum. :D

**Russia: **-facepalm-

**Klei: **But seriously, sometimes I wonder why so many fanfics shy away from the word 'penis,' opting instead for completely replacing the word with 'cock,' and 'dick.' It's understandable if you're trying to be a little poetic (I recall Lolita referring to it as the 'scepter of his affection,' or something, which made me seriously laugh out loud), but that's slang. :D Call it like it is, guys. .

**Russia: **We get the point, you can stop now.

**America: **MAKE IT STOOOOOP!

**Russia: **So this is karmic punishment for all the bad things I've done? I get to be surrounded by idiots? Why am I the only one suffering? America has done plenty of horrible things, too!

**Klei: **Oh, but he _has _been punished. –in a whisper- _Il est très stupide et ignorant, _in case you haven't noticed by now.

**America: **So seriously, when are we getting that roast, guys? I'm, like, totally starving. :L -derps-

**Russia: **…On second thought, I think I got the better end of the deal. I'm not even going to ask what the French was for, by the way.

**Klei: **Well, I'm glad you asked! See, I'm taking a French cla-

**Russia: **No one cares.

**Klei: **;3; Anyway, here ends another obnoxiously long author's note. _Au revoir, _and see you guys, uh, whenever I next update. Which will hopefully be soon. :3


End file.
